


Chosen One.

by springburn



Series: Random musings from The Capaldi character file. [22]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Loyalty, Peter Capaldi character file, Some angst and feels, court intrigue, relationships, servitude, sexually explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a hot summer in Paris, Cardinal Richelieu has his eyes on a new conquest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Choice is Made.

**Author's Note:**

> This story comes from the ficlet I posted on tumblr a while ago. 
> 
> The original is posted on my dashboard as The Capaldian Calender.
> 
> The ficlet is marked by *. 
> 
> The action roughly takes place between 1624-1630. (Ish!)
> 
> This story will be one of court intrigue. Almost like a costume drama.  
> I will try to make it as historically accurate as possible. Events will be as true as I can make them, although I may change some dates and timings to fit the story.  
> The characters will also be real and based on truth. Only the character of Gabrielle is an invention of my own.

CARDINAL SINDAY SUNDAY

CHOSEN ONE.

*From the relative comfort of his coach, he watched. 

Like a bird of prey. 

His sharp eyes scanning the congregation as they entered the cathedral. Turning to his manservant he indicated his choice. 

Gabrielle. Daughter of a minor nobleman.

Young. Pious. Beautiful. 

Once returned to his own chamber he sat at table. Candles lit. Incense burning. Reading from the scriptures.... 

_1 John 4:7_  
_Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God_

 

_1 Corinthians 10: 13_

  
_There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it………_

Fighting a constant war within himself. Denying himself and his own desires.  
The spirit willing but the flesh weak. 

Giving in to temptation. Then asking God for forgiveness. 

A gentle knock on the door.

"Come!" 

Gabrielle. An honour to be thus singled out.

A rosy flush to the cheek. Milky skin. The rise and fall of her breasts so mesmerising. 

"Eminence." She bowed low. 

His hands came around her slim waist. Drawing her close to him.  
She gave a little gasp, her small hands resting against the leather of his jerkin, in a demure attempt to fend him off. 

"Please. My lord!" She whispered, fearfully.

In reply his mouth closed over hers. The brush of his moustache and beard against her lips.  
His kiss was warm. Deep and insistent.  
The spark of arousal in both of them.  
His new conquest leaned into him, so that when he pulled away, she almost fell forwards in her quest to follow him. 

"Come to me later. I will send for you." He murmured, tracing the line of her jaw with one long finger. 

"Yes, Your Eminence." Her eyes cast down in humble supplication. 

"Please me and you will be rewarded. My pleasure will be your pleasure." He moved away, turning his back on her. "Go now." 

"God bless you, My Lord!" She dropped a deep curtesy and left the room quietly.*

oOo

Well heeled Parisians were leaving the City in droves, to escape the sweltering heat of the summer. 

Out into the countryside one was less prone to disease or fever.

The King owned a hunting lodge at Versailles. Built in brick and stone a few years before. It was small by Royal standards, but quite commodious and less important members of the court could be comfortably housed nearby. 

In a wooded, rural area, it was far enough outside Paris to be free of the stain of pestilence.  
The air was better, fresher, cleaner, and some of the usual Court formality relaxed. 

The vast entourage that travelled with the king whenever he moved, formed a wagon train along the route.  
Members of the Court and the Kings Council.  
Plate and tapestries. Coffers filled with coin of the realm.  
A travelling wardrobe of the Kings clothes, jewellery and dresses belonging to the Queen. As well as the state papers, the privy seal and other important machineries of State. 

Coaches in a long line. 

Under heavy guard. 

Members of the Royal staff were sent on ahead.  
Cooks and manservants, housekeepers and laundresses. 

Everything laid in readiness for His Majesty. 

Armand Jean du Plessis, did not much care for these country jaunts. Being away from the centre of power made him nervous.  
But where the King went, his chief minister had to follow.  
A sojourn away from Paris was infinitely preferable to the ghastly apparition of smallpox, typhus or the dreaded sweating sickness, which hung over the city like a pall of black. Mingled with the stench from the open drainage and the river Seine, which, in the fetid heat of summer, boiled like a cess pool. Plagued by flies, overrun with vermin.  
The Reaper visiting household after household. Sometimes a person rising feeling well at cock crow, could be dead by supper time. No one was safe. Rich or poor.  
A young, fit individual was just as vulnerable as the elderly or the tiniest babe. 

 

oOo

 

The carriages rumbled and jolted. 

The roads were appalling. 

They always were.  
In winter they were all mud and ruts and were virtually impassable, seething with robbers and vagabonds. In summer, baked to a crusty hardness which was like travelling over a ploughed field. 

The baggage train halted by the roadside, where a spring rose, bubbling and tumbling into a wide pool, giving clear, fresh, cool water for the thirsty horses. 

Some stayed inside their sweltering carriages. Unwilling to set foot to ground. 

The Cardinal, however, pushed open the padded door and stepped down. 

For a brief moment the searing heat of the day hit him.  
Inside the coach was stuffy in the extreme.  
Above him the heavens were azure blue, barely a cloud, he looked up and marvelled at the brightness of the sun.  
Swallows and swifts wheeled and soared over and around the trees, aerial acrobats, so sure in flight. 

He turned back to the carriage, reaching inside. His hand was taken by the small hand of another.  
His travelling companion, newly in his service, only chosen a few days before. 

Gabrielle. 

Her fingers so tiny, and delicate. Lily white. The nails neat and trimmed, fine hands used only to needlework, embroidery, water colouring, playing on the harpsichord. No harsh work for her.  
Although only minor nobility, she was refined. Elegant. Beautiful. 

Dressed in her summer muslin, with large lace sleeves in the Dutch style, a brocade skirt.  
A gold cross and chain, a gift from her new master, at her bosom, and a wide brimmed straw hat, decorated with pale blue ribbon.  
Her dainty foot, in a silk shoe, coming onto the step to dismount carefully. 

"We will be stopping here a while mademoiselle!" He intoned quietly. "I thought you might require some fresh air."

She raised her face to his. There was a paleness to her cheek, and her blue eyes shone with an inner light he found quite distracting. 

As the July heatwave had come upon them so unexpectedly, and the outbreak of the sweating sickness rife, the Kings decision to remove the Court had been rather a hurried one. 

There was no set timetable for this event. In cool, wet summers they may remain in Paris all season. Other years, when there was a prolonged hot, dry spell, many weeks might be spent away. 

Richelieu had no time to send for his new companion to come to him as he'd expected.  
His frustration had been profound. 

However, he considered her worth the wait. 

So carefully chosen, so ripe for the plucking. 

As a member of a celibate priesthood and a Cardinal, a representative of the Pope in Rome, and a man of God, his liaisons had to remain, at the very least, discreet.  
As the Kings first minister however, and as a man, he was less burdened by his conscience. 

Although in truth there were none to judge him on this particular matter but himself. 

And his God. 

Temptation was constantly placed in his way, and he found it very difficult not to succumb. The sins of the flesh were less abhorrent to him than sins of deceit and the traitorous behaviour of some around him. He considered a lack of loyalty to King and patriotism to Country to be by far the greater offence. 

Gabrielle kept her eyes lowered. Her face shaded by the brim of her chapeau. 

His hand released hers, and she stepped away, holding up her skirts to prevent them from brushing the ground. Revealing a slim and finely turned ankle. 

This one was different, Richelieu mused to himself, as he watched her walk away. 

She would require more careful handling than he usually troubled himself with. 

Most of his previous conquests had been used and discarded at his own whim. They soon became tiresome, one way or another.  
Too greedy, too needy. Or just plain annoying. Turning possessive, or shrill, moody and cloying.  
Some had succumbed to illness or disease, some he had put away in a nunnery for their own good, or discreetly disposed of. 

His sleep was not troubled by them. 

Affairs of state kept him awake and disturbed his dreams, not dalliances with the female sex. 

But Gabrielle was not like these other women.

She was younger it was true. Innocent, he felt quite sure. Without stain.  
There was a freshness and purity about her. It was almost a shame to spoil it. 

Her mein serene, calm and quiet. Demure and accepting. 

She would prove a most pleasant distraction. 

Of that he was certain. 

A cry went up that they were to be moving on. 

He handed her back inside the coach, and joined her, seating himself at her side. 

She sat, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Head down slightly. A slight blush to her cheek. 

"We will soon be there." He remarked. "A few more hours." 

"Yes, Your Eminence." She replied, without raising her eyes. 

It occurred to him then, that he would very much like to kiss those rosebud lips, as he had at their first introduction, but somehow he held back. 

'Take your time, Armand.' He thought. 'Gain her trust. Then she will be all the more pliant and submissive, when the time comes.' 

He smiled to himself at the thought, and turned his attention to a small scripture which he carried with him at all times. 

Reading the parable of the Persistent Friend. Luke 11:9. 

_"Ask and it shall be given you, seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened unto you."_

The sway of the carriage lulled him, and eventually his head nodded forwards onto his breast and he slept.


	2. Why You are Chosen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place a month before the events of the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marie de Medici and the Duke d' Orleans, brother of the the King, were the chief conspirators that Richelieu had to deal with. They resented Richelieu's power and sought to kill him and depose the King then share power amongst themselves. There were several major plots against him between 1626/1630. We will meet and be introduced to other players as the story progresses. 
> 
> Le Comte de Soissons was a cousin of the King, and a serial plotter against him. 
> 
> The area in the SW of France where the Durfort family come from was a hotbed of Huguenot rebellion. There were three major uprisings in the area. Between 1620-28. Richelieu himself was present and presided over the siege of La Rochelle. 1627. 
> 
> I have amalgamated some of the conspiracies to fit with the time frame of the story, so I hope you'll forgive the artistic licence.  
> But be assured the events happened and Richelieu was a part of them.

CHAPTER TWO  
WHY YOU ARE CHOSEN. 

_The previous month......._

Travelling to Paris. Such an adventure. 

A journey fraught with danger, robberies and accidents on the road were frequent. Yet just as much to fear at home, the household in constant anxiety. 

Rebellions and uprisings. Religious upheaval. Their estate an island in a boiling sea. 

Her father's actions. What had he done that was so wrong? 

She was alone now, but for her maidservant, their lodging house adequate, until better could be found. 

So many thoughts tumbling round in her head. Until now she had known nothing but a quiet provincial life. One of relative comfort.  
Her family held lands near Nîmes in the South West for generations. 

A member of the Durfort family. An ancient feudal estate and title. Seigneur. Minor nobility. 

Yet potentially, oh so important! 

Spotted in church by Le Comte de Soissons, on a visit, during the second uprising. 

Attending mass. 

So captivating. 

A shock to be sent for. 

To come to court. Sponsored, chaperoned. How could Seigneur Durfort refuse? 

Now here she was, being driven in a carriage, through the thronging streets of Paris. 

Filled with almost childish excitement. Going to she knew not what, but it didn't matter. Everything was wonderful and new, the sights, the sounds, the smells. 

So far from home. 

Their last parting a poignant one. Tears on both sides. 

"Take care my dearest Daughter and make your father proud." 

Their estate in an area surrounded by Protestant rebellion. Montpellier, Castres, San Antonin, all hotbeds of The Huguenot discontent.

Politics meant little to her, although she was a good Catholic, devout and pious, as the young often are, she did not involve herself in the day to day running of her father's estate. Kept in ignorance for the most part, taught to read and write, to sew, to play a little. She learned to ride, and was accomplished in the expected pursuits of a young woman of her time. 

Her mother died giving birth to her brother, some years before, the weakling infant did not long survive the parent, and Gabrielle was therefore indulged as her father's pride and joy. 

Events elsewhere seemed to largely pass them by, until suddenly the woods around their house were full of soldiers. Her father arrested, dragged off and imprisoned in chains.  
For what?  
Accused of having Protestant sympathies.  
Although subsequently released without charge, he seemed different on his return, altered somehow, was being carefully watched, in danger of losing his lands, branded traitorous.

It was a lie. A falsehood. He was the most loyal of men. Loved the King. 

Frightening times. 

A precarious position. A transgression that would not easily be forgotten. His life could be forfeit. 

In the midst of it all, his beloved daughter, plucked away. Under the patronage of Soissons. 

Was he trustworthy? 

What father would not fear for his only daughter? 

oOo

_The Palais du Luxembourg._

Gabrielle's eyes wide with wonder. 

Such opulence, such style. Like nothing she'd ever seen waking or in dreams. 

Her mud stained travelling cape swirled around her as she followed the brisk manservant through countless corridors and rooms. 

Shown into the Petit Salon. 

Doors swung wide to reveal a marquetry table, card players seated around. 

The light of many wax candles giving a muted yellow glow, on this warm evening. 

The faces turned to regard her with interest as she entered. 

"Mademoiselle Durfort, Monsieur Le Comte."

She recognised Louis Count of Soissons, but not the other grand occupants of the gaming table. As her eyes were lowered and she dropped a curtsy, she noticed a beautifully dressed older woman, seated to one side, apparently sewing. 

Her eyes glittering beneath their hooded lids. 

Exquisitely dressed, Gabrielle knew her immediately from her portraits, the mother of the King. Marie de Medici. 

Her Royal majesty made no move to engage her or even give sign that she'd noticed her arrival, but sat, implacable and detached near to the window. 

Soisson lay his hand face down, rose and came towards her, turning to his playing companion as he did so. 

"See! Orlèans! Did I not say she was a prize above all others?" 

His card partner stood, pushing back his chair, a smile sweeping across his face. Crossing the room he faced the nervous young woman, and their eyes met.  
Tall and dark, with a moustache and goatee, his hair long and curled in the latest fashion. Elegantly dressed, in a fine embroidered jacket with thread of gold. 

Gabrielle glanced up at him fearfully. She was a country bumpkin compared to these grandees. 

"Well met, my dear! You are indeed very beautiful. So much so that I beg to steal a kiss from those ruby lips!" 

Before she knew what was happening his mouth assaulted hers. She staggered backwards under the onslaught with a cry of shame and indignation, trying to pull away.  
Her hand coming up to her face to defend herself. His breath was foul and stank of the wine he had been so recently drinking.  
"Come along little one! Don't be shy!" He murmured salaciously, licking his lips. 

"Sire! Please! I......." She did her best to collect herself. 

At that moment, the woman she knew to be the Queen Mother, came between them. 

"Please forgive the behaviour of my son!" She said, shooting an angry glance at the bold Duke. "He forgets himself." 

Flushed and frightened, Mademoiselle Durfort fought to control her tears.

"She will do very well." Her Royal majesty remarked. "He will not be able to resist this precious flower."

She turned back to Mademoiselle Durfort. 

"You are here to perform a task young lady, you are under our patronage and tutelage. You will be placed in the way of our adversary. You will allow him to woo you and win you. You will entrance him. But, make no mistake, you are there to serve our purpose. Your task is the procurement of information, which you will pass on to us, and you will perform it to the very best of your ability."

As she spoke the former Queen circled her victim like a lioness. Looking her up and down, examining her from every angle, moving her head from side to side with a finger, to facilitate the best view in the candlelight. 

"Your Highness......." She stammered. "Who is this person I am to acquaint myself with? Why am I chosen for this? Am I to spy for you? What if I should be caught?" 

"Tush! So many questions!" Was the dismissive reply. Taking the young woman's hand, she led her to a seat. "Sit here, by me. I will tell you exactly why you will help us." 

She took a sip of wine and folded her hands neatly in her lap, before continuing. 

"Apartments have been found for you at the Louvre Palace. You will meet your quarry soon enough. You will have to be most careful, secretive, discreet. I'm sure you will perform admirably." 

Gabrielle swallowed. 

"And what if he doesn't notice me, or I don't please him?" 

"He will......and you will make sure you do!" The Medici replied with barely disguised malice.  
"Because if you fail, your father will be taken from his lands, everything you possess will be stripped from you, he will die alone and forgotten, rotting in prison, in unimaginable pain and suffering, and you will never see him alive again....."

A little gasp left her and a tear which formed in her eye, spilled over and rolled down her cheek. 

"Can I count on you to do our work?" The voice soft now, insistent, measured and controlled. 

"Yes, Your Majesty." Gabrielle whispered. 

"Good!" She said brightly. "Then we are in accord. All will be well. The information you give us will help us to restore the nobility to it's rightful place, it will supplant this scourge of France and teach him a lesson. One he will never forget." 

The Queen Mother smiled benignly. Rising from the chair with a gesture. 

"You will be shown to your new quarters. We will meet again very soon. Go now!" 

A manservant appeared as if from nowhere, his outstretched hand beseeching her to rise and follow him. 

oOo

All thoughts of her excitement gone. 

Weeping hot and desperate tears. Terribly afraid. Completely alone. So this was why she was summoned. Not to enjoy the delights of Paris, to be feted and admired, to dance and to dine and to learn the ways of the Royal Court. No! 

Instead to be dangled like a puppet in front of whomever this fearsome person was, who was so despised. 

A hapless marionette. To perform a duty. 

To fail was to sentence her father to death, and possibly herself too. To be caught would doubtless have similar consequences. 

Her own beloved parent. Who meant the whole world to her since the death of her mother. How could she let him down? Abandon him to a fate worse than death?  
She had no choice. 

How she longed for that quiet provincial life again. To be home. Uncomplicated. Relatively safe. 

That evening she went down onto her knees before the little icon of the Virgin Mary, the one small piece of home that had travelled the miles along with her, and she prayed fervently for help and salvation. 

oOo

Once she was gone, Soissons turned to his friend. 

"Pretty little thing, isn't she?" He grinned. 

"She is!" Gaston, Duke of Orlèans drained his wine glass with a flourish. "Shame she has to be sullied by the likes of Richelieu. I would quite like a feel of that virgin cunt myself!" 

The two men laughed together heartily. 

"You're welcome to her, once we have what we want!" Smiled the Count. 

With a scoff, his mother admonished him. 

"You have enough mistresses, my son. You keep yourself in your breeches where that one is concerned. She's too low for a Prince of the Blood. And she has an important job to do!"


	3. Second Meeting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little recap of Gabrielle's thoughts after her initial meeting with The Cardinal. The journey and the day after arriving in Versaille.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> The Versailles hunting lodge in the time of Louis XIII

CHAPTER THREE.  
SECOND MEETING.

_The day after arriving at Versailles......_

Gabrielle lived in constant dread since her first proper meeting with the infamous Cardinal Richelieu. 

Expecting to be summoned to him at any moment, she was surprised when a letter was delivered instead. Written in a elegant and spidery hand, sealed in red wax with the signet ring he wore on the little finger of his right hand. 

She was required to attend him on the morrow. They would be travelling together along with the rest of the King's entourage. 

Since her meeting with Le Comte she had gone to great pains to learn a little about her intended Master. The man she was expected to entrance and captivate with her feminine wiles.  
What she found troubled her deeply. 

His reputation was fearsome. Ruthless and cruel. Heartless and unfeeling. Merciless with those who opposed him and a monster when it came to the fair sex. 

It was, therefore, with great trepidation that she presented herself, ready to journey with him.  
She would be riding in his carriage, she was informed, and should prepare herself accordingly. 

Others gathered and waiting in the courtyard that fine morning, she recognised as some of the card players she'd seen at the Palais du Luxembourg, although she knew not their names, rank or status. 

The road was hard and uneven, but was surprisingly less arduous than she'd expected. 

After an initial perfunctory greeting, Richelieu handed her a small box. 

"For you Mademoiselle." He said quietly. 

Under the velvet lid was contained a gold crucifix on a fine chain. 

Gabrielle was both surprised and touched by the gift, but wary that accepting it made her seem more compliant than she wished to appear at this early stage. 

She had been carefully counselled to remain coy and demure, to fend off his attentions, and thus seek to inflame his desire all the more. 

"Thank you. Your Eminence. It's beautiful. But I should not accept it." She said, looking up at him shyly.

"As you wish. It is a token. Nothing more." He seemed not angry, but a little crestfallen.

"Then I will wear it, gladly." She replied firmly, deciding that perhaps discretion was the better part of valour where incurring his wrath might be concerned. 

Nodding curtly, he fastened the chain around her neck for her before sitting back against the plush seat, facing forwards. 

His Eminence the Cardinal was then sullen and withdrawn, he barely spoke to her, as they sat, almost knee to knee in the sweltering carriage. 

If she thought he would try to touch or kiss her again, she was mistaken. He tried nothing. Instead he was courteous and chivalrous. Maintaining his distance as far as the confines of the coach allowed. 

She found herself recalling his kiss, at their first brief meeting. Comparing it to that of The Duke. 

Gabrielle had little or no experience of men. Still less of kisses. 

This much she knew, however, The Duke disgusted her, made her retch. The Cardinal did not. His mouth was sweet against her own, the brush of his moustache pleasant and soft, not bristly and harsh as she'd imagined it might be.  
Her expectation of such things was that her heart should flutter, but hers pounded relentlessly at the feel of his lips on her own, in spite of herself and all she knew of him. Which she admitted was very little but hearsay.  
There was a scent about him that was pleasing, his touch had been insistent but gentle, not forced upon her with brute ignorance and strength. 

She gave a sigh. A flush rising in her cheek.  
Then was suddenly aware of her travelling companion's piercing gaze. 

Gabrielle Durfort had never felt so out of her depth. 

Her inexperience in all things clear for all to see. She was besieged on both sides. Nothing more than a pawn in other people's games.  
To be manoeuvred and toyed with, until she outlived her usefulness, then she would be discarded.  
Without so much as a second glance. 

All this she could see, and was powerless to prevent it. 

oOo

The sweltering weather continued unabated. 

An outdoor picnic was planned after the Royal party returned from the hunt. 

Richelieu did not hunt. 

Thundering around on horseback chasing hapless deer in the hot sun, did not fill him with any great lust. He preferred to remain in his quarters. Writing letters. Papers of State arriving from Paris daily. 

There was much to do. The machinations of government continued while the King partook of his revels. Richelieu was in the role of a mighty juggler, keeping many balls in the air, one slip and they would all fall down upon his head. 

The gardens of the lodge were set out in sweeping lawns and parterres. 

Box hedging, conical trimmed yew trees. Roses and lavender. Herbs and other fragrant plants. Divided into pleasant walks and secluded arbours. 

A large canopy was set up on the main lawn. Chairs and trestle tables groaned with wonderful things.  
Sweetmeats and wines. Roast foul. Succulent pineapples, an exotic and rare fruit. Cultivated in the hot houses behind the kitchen garden. 

Armand Jean du Plessis joined the assembly. Gabrielle, seated patiently by his side.  
Gradually the gathering broke up, the King and Queen rising and taking a walk, surrounded by courtiers and lackeys.  
As chief minister Richelieu was never far behind. 

As the fierce heat of the sun waned, a cooler breeze ruffled the feathers of the proud peacocks, which stalked the gardens, their sharp cries echoing across the verdant lawns. 

Taking her arm firmly, the Cardinal peeled off along a separate path.

"Walk with me mademoiselle." He said sharply, guiding her deftly away. 

They strolled in silence for some time. His fingers resting on her forearm, gripping slightly. She noticed his pale artistic hands, the lace of his cuff dark against the translucent skin.  
It was all she could do to keep from shivering in her fear and anticipation. 

He noticed. 

"Are you frightened of me?" He asked eventually, when they were quite alone and separated from the rest of the company. 

"Yes. Your Eminence." She responded with great honesty. 

She saw his eyebrows raise imperceptibly, as if her frankness surprised him. 

"No doubt you've heard what a monster I am!" He replied, with a slight smile. 

"Yes, Sire!" She answered again. 

Her lip trembled, and she could not meet is eye. 

"Everything I do, I do for France. And for my King. Everything. Do you understand?" His face was earnest now and he was looking searchingly into hers. 

"Not everything surely, My Lord." Her voice was soft and she held his gaze now, without wavering. 

Leaning forwards he pressed his lips against hers, the kiss was not insistent as it had been before, but gentle and warm. It left her gasping. Her breast rose and fell rapidly within the tight lacing of the corset she wore. 

"Well, perhaps not _absolutely_ everything!" He said hotly, as he pulled back. 

They continued to walk, side by side, his arm linked with hers at the elbow. 

"So, you have travelled from Nîmes I understand? Tell me about yourself." He enquired, politely. 

"Yes. Our lands are there. I am under the patronage and sponsorship of Le Comte de Soissons."

His Eminence nodded. The information was clearly not news to him at all. 

"What of your father? Is he well?" He pursued, probing gently. 

"When last I heard of him. But I fear for him." It was difficult to keep the choke from her voice as she spoke of her beloved parent, who was constantly in her thoughts and prayers. 

"Then he should keep himself out of trouble and not aid Huguenots!" The tone from her companion hardened suddenly, causing Gabrielle to stop in her tracks and turn towards him. 

"My father is a good and honest man." She shot, fiercely. "And a good Catholic. But he is a Christian. The Protestants crossed our lands, fleeing to La Rochelle. There were women and children. They were hungry and thirsty and some were sick. Little, helpless children, Sire. Starving for want of bread. What was my father to do? He gave them provisions, and they went on their way." 

"They are rebels. They are against the King. Every step they take is treason." He responded sharply. 

"They are also human beings. They are created by God. Just as we are. In the parable of The Good Samaritan our Lord tells us not to pass by on the other side. No matter whom or what the person is. We are all God's children. Jew and Gentile, black and white. Man or woman. We are all equal under His sight. My father did nothing wrong Sire. And I will defend him to my dying breath. Surely, you, as a man of God, must see that what he did was the only right thing to do?" 

Armand Jean du Plessis, turned away, biting his lip. 

What had he found in this strange young woman? 

Brave or foolhardy? 

To speak thus to him? 

The chief vassal of The King of France. More powerful almost than the King himself. 

And yet he was not angry, her words touched him deeply. She spoke out of deep love, loyalty and fear.  
He could see it. Her face shining with passion. 

There was more to this indomitable little person than met the eye. She had a profound effect upon him. 

He would tread warily.

He would have her for his own, but with kindness, not with severity.  
Outwardly she may not be strong, but she had an inner fire......and that he found most alluring.


	4. Duplicity.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabrielle overhears a meeting between The Cardinal and one of his advisors. 
> 
> She later finds an unexpected way to make herself useful to him and further draw him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several characters are introduced here, of which more will be heard later. 
> 
> As well as the meddling of Marie de Medici (Louis' mother) and her younger son Orleans (Louis' full brother, and a Prince of the Blood) there were others very keen to bring the all powerful Cardinal down and teach him a lesson. Whilst also supplanting the King himself. 
> 
> The Vendômes are Louis' illegitimate half brothers. 
> 
> Condé and Soissons, his cousins. 
> 
> The widow of Duc de Luynes (Richelieu's predecessor as chief minister) the Duchess of Chevreuse with her lover Count de Chalais (master of the kings wardrobe) were all co-conspirators at various times. 
> 
> Unfortunately for them, they failed to recognise one issue.....Richelieu's superb spy system.

CHAPTER FOUR.  
DUPLICITY. 

Preparations were underway for a Masque. With actors and actresses, performing acrobats, fire eaters and dancers.  
A pageant of great colour and spectacle. Followed by a magnificent feast. 

An air of excitement echoed around the hunting lodge of Versailles. 

Still the weather had not broken. The ground parched to dust, flies buzzing. The area surrounding the main house and garden was low in places and swampy, and it was necessary to light lime lamps in the rooms at night to keep the biting insects at bay. 

Gabrielle saw little of her new master. 

He was preoccupied. 

When she was summoned to his chambers they were seldom alone. 

However, she was privy to a meeting he arranged with one of his advisors. She was not sure she was meant to overhear, but the door was left ajar, and the voices carried. 

Seated in the window seat, her embroidery on her lap, she listened carefully to the exchange. Her ears pricked when she heard mention of Soissons. His Eminence's voice she knew, but the advisors was strange to her. 

"So......they move against us?" 

_"Plotting. Always plotting. They seek to undermine our power."_

"Well, we must make sure they do not succeed. The power of these nobles must be clipped. It is the might of the King which must hold sway. Otherwise we descend into Civil War. We cannot afford more infighting. Not with the Huguenot threat ever present." 

_"Eminence, there are enemies at our very door. The Hapsberg Empire, England, the Holy See of Rome. They are massed against us."_

"That's why must form alliances. Strengthen our position. We have allies. I care not whether they are Catholic or Protestant, if they will support France, and the King, then I will have them." 

_"The Vendômes are against you Sire. They seek to cast you aside, and they are aided by Condé and Soissons."_

"I'm well aware of that! It is the Medici's meddling, and her milksop Orlèans. Oh, how they would love my neck in a noose!" 

_"But you have the advantage Eminence, the support of your King. He knows you are His man. And always will be."_

"We must work to limit the power of these high born dolts! The widow of my predecessor Luynes works with them, a dried up witch if ever there was one, the Duchess de Chevreuse, she and her paramour. The poison pair!  
Like two maggots in an apple. But I will have the better of them! My spies told me she has taken a lover!" 

A pause. 

_"A lover! This is news."_

"None other than Chalais!" 

_"Good God Sire! That means they have ears right at the bedside of the King himself! He is master of the Wardrobe!"_

_"Conspiracy after conspiracy! We will surely be undone! It'll be the gibbet for all of us!"_

"Never fear my dear sir. Nothing sneaks passed my network. I will know their plans before they know themselves!" 

oOo

It was late in the afternoon when her master finally joined her, in his own private quarters. 

His face was pinched and grey with weariness. 

He seated himself in an armchair with a heavy sigh. Gabrielle watched him carefully, unsure as to how to act, or what she should do or say. 

Eventually she stood and crossed the room to him. 

"May I fetch you some wine, Your Eminence?" 

The startlingly blue eyes opened slowly and darted across her face. 

"No!" He patted his knees. "Come. Sit with me." 

He saw her hesitate, then blush crimson. 

"Or not, as you wish." He concluded with a shrug. 

Reaching a decision and mindful of the responsibility placed upon her by her patron, she gathered up her skirts and perched herself on his lap. 

His eyes continued to pierce hers searchingly. 

"Still afraid of me?" He enquired, with a tiny hint of annoyance in his tone. 

"Yes, My Lord." She replied, her eyes cast down momentarily, unable to hide her embarrassment. 

"No doubt you've been told I force myself upon women." He continued, still holding her gaze steadily. 

"I had heard that. Yes, Your Eminence. I won't lie to you." She stiffened slightly, as his arm came lightly around her slim waist. 

"I know all the things they say about me." He laughed suddenly and not without bitterness. "But I will tell you now, it is a lie. I have never taken any woman by force. They come to me willingly or not at all." 

His eyes closed again and his head rested back against the chair. 

"You are so tired, Sire. Perhaps you should rest." 

The lids snapped open again, and Gabrielle feared she'd gone too far. This man, while most certainly attractive, also thoroughly scared her. So powerful, so far above her. She knew what was ultimately expected of her, both by Soissons and Richelieu himself, but by instinct, she shied away from it.

"I'm so sorry, My Lord." She pleaded. " Please forgive me, but you seemed so weary......and I didn't know what I should do......I never know what I should do......I'm not versed in these matters, I want to be agreeable, but I'm so frightened to do the wrong thing, and thus displease you." There was a distinct wobble in her chin as she spoke. 

His face softened at the sight of it. The brows lifted. 

"No! I beg your pardon. You are young. Untried and unsure of yourself. It is I that am at fault. I forget......you know nothing of men. And I am, underneath it all, just a man. With a man's needs and desires." He released his hold on her, resting back again. 

"My head pounds so!" He breathed, screwing up his eyes and drawing a hand across them. 

"May I be permitted to help you Sire? My father used to suffer with a similar malady of the head. I was the only one who could give him relief. I could try the same for you? If you would allow?"

An expression of puzzlement crossed his visage, forehead furrowing and silently questioning what she might do. 

She continued speaking before he could answer, her confidence growing a little, turning herself on his lap so that she could address him directly. 

"My father's eyes were poor, Your Eminence. Working in candlelight made his head pain him. Also at times of great strain, there was a throbbing, here......" She touched her fingers to each side of his eyes very gently.  
".........at the temples.......and I found that I could ease his suffering. May I try the same for you?" 

At the touch of her fingertips Richelieu's eyes fluttered shut, his mouth opened in an exhale of surrender at the sensation. 

"What would you have me do?" He asked, quietly. 

"I would have you remove your leather jerkin, My Lord. So that I can reach the shoulders and neck. It is from here that the tension stems. The pain can be relieved by releasing the tautness in the sinews." 

Without waiting to be asked, she began to unfasten the laces holding his jacket. He  
acquiesced, his eyes becoming heavy with arousal, although Gabrielle in her innocence did not see it for what it was.  
Once the offending garment was removed, and his black undershirt pulled out from his breeches, she guided him gently. 

"Sit here Sire. If you will, so that I can reach the place from where the pain originates."

He moved to a wooden bench that formed a pew in front of his private altar. Where he would sit or kneel, to pray, at the start of each day, and in the evening. A small icon was there, and candles in tall holders, a censer filled with incense to one side. 

Standing directly behind him, she began, slowly but firmly, to knead the muscles of his shoulders and nape of his neck. Finding the knots and pressing her small hands into the most tender spots. 

The Cardinal groaned beneath her ministrations, his head falling forwards in bliss at the touch. 

"Your hands are those of a healer." He ventured, his voice languid with contentment. 

Gabrielle continued for some while, until finally, he closed his hands deftly over her own, curling his fingers around hers. 

"Enough!" He said. "No more. My pain has eased. I feel better. Thank you."  
Releasing his hold, he stood up. Turning, moving around the bench to where she patiently waited. 

Placing his hands upon her waist, he pulled her towards him slightly. His eyes fixed on hers again, the pupils wide and dark. Boring into her own. Their noses almost touching. 

"I had a feeling when I first saw you, you would do me good." He breathed, as he ducked his head down, bringing his lips to hers. 

He kissed her tenderly and it was unlike anything she ever felt in her life.  
Neither of his previous attempts had been as intense as this, and yes, her heart fluttered.....wildly beating in her chest.  
A tendril of warmth spreading down from her stomach, between her legs and her inner thighs, she wasn't sure she quite understood what was happening, but she knew it felt wonderful. 

Her arms came around his neck before she knew what she was doing, her body being drawn against his. 

Beneath the thin shirt she could feel the throb of his own heart, and the throb of something else.  
Lower down. Pressed against her, right where she seemed to need it most. 

Just as suddenly she pulled back. Gasping for air. 

Having grown up without a mother to tell her of such things, her only almanac had been rumour and what she could glean from the servants.  
Finding out about menstruation had only occurred when it actually happened to her.  
The shock to her fourteen year old self had been palpable. To suddenly discover herself bleeding.  
She had run to the kitchen in tears, only to be laughed at by the cook for her naivety and the phenomenon explained to her in simplistic terms. 

She had never seen a naked man. Had no idea what to expect. 

The first time she had seen a young farm worker of her father's without a shirt, had been her initiation into the mysteries of the strangest of sensations.  
It was the first time she'd touched herself, or even knew or felt that she needed to. 

The feelings frightened her, she thought them unnatural. With no one to advise her, she'd prayed to God.  
Answer came there none. 

Now, that same powerful emotion threatened to overwhelm her, the thrill that pulsed through her, tempered only by fear of the unknown and her own ignorance. She desperately wriggled free of his grasp.  
Flushed and excited, but deeply ashamed, and filled with trepidation. 

Her hands pressed firmly against his chest. Holding the man at bay. Staggering away from him. 

"Please! Lord have mercy on my soul! I feel........I want......." She whispered, hoarse with desires that terrified and confused her. 

The Cardinal released her. Stepping back. 

A slight smile on his face. 

"You are quite safe. Do not fear. Perhaps another time!" He said gently. "You should go now mademoiselle, before I forget myself!" 

She curtsied hurriedly, shaking her head in disbelief at her own feelings, one hand touching her lips where his had so recently been, flustered beyond all reason, she gathered her skirts around her and hurried from his presence. 

His smile lingered as he watched her go. 

Yes! He would have her, she would be his, and she would beg for him. 

Patience Armand. Patience. 

His hand strayed down to his breeches as the door closed behind her.


	5. In the Heat of the Night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Masque is in progress, but a violent storm is brewing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The court dances La Chaconne and La Rigauden are real. 
> 
> Richelieu really danced the Sarabande in front of Anne of Austria. (It is written in his biography).  
> It is beautiful lute music.
> 
> As a soldier and a youth of 20, he was also treated for gonorrhoea, so that tells me he was a fairly typical soldier away from home, and liked the girls!

CHAPTER FIVE.  
IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT.

A thousand torches lit the gardens. The walkways illuminated like a myriad of twinkling stars brightly aflame. 

The balmy evening air was barely ruffled by a breeze, so still and humid was the twilight. 

Music played. 

The court danced La Chaconne, led by the King and Queen. A swirl of skirts and lace. Buckles and bows.  
Glittering candlelight reflected in glass, shining and flickering with the draft of movement. All in a flurry of perfumed hair and flummery. 

Afterwards the lutes played the Sarabande, and Armand Jean du Plessis danced before the Queen herself. A rare occurrence. 

An accomplished dancer, stately and perfectly poised. 

Returning to his seat, he caught the eye of Gabrielle, seated nearby. Her face shining with admiration, barely concealed.  
Soissons, leaned over her, from his chair at her side. 

"It is going well Mademoiselle?" He enquired, drawing a fingertip down the length of her bare arm. "Judging by the bewitched look on his face, you've hooked him, but he has not yet tickled your fancy? Eh?" Monsieur Le Comte waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

Gabrielle pulled her elbow away, and looked around desperately for a way to extricate herself. 

It was then she was aware of a dark shadow at her side. As if a black raven had flown over her head. Turning slowly, glancing up, she came face to face with Richelieu's startling lapis eyes, which inexplicably seemed to make the air stick in her lungs, her breath stilled momentarily.  
Held in thrall, and yet the sight of him was a huge relief. 

"La Rigauden is just beginning mademoiselle. You should be on your feet!" His hand was held out towards her, the fingers curled slightly, inviting her to stand.  
Reaching out, she took it, rising from her seat, not looking back as Le Comte watched closely.  
She curtsied, allowing him to lead her to the floor. 

Instead of accompanying her across the boards, he placed her hand into that of another, backing away with a slight bow. 

"Entertain me, Mademoiselle Durfort. I will be watching." He murmured, his voice soft, his mouth close to her ear. 

Seated à table, a glass of ruby wine before him, he twirled the stem absentmindedly between his long fingers.  
His gaze entirely focused on the spectacle before him. 

Her movement was poised, elegant. Small, dainty toes pointed and turned, the swish of her petticoat just visible beneath her skirts, slim ankles encased in fine stockings. 

Watching the gentle tilt of her head, the graceful swing of her white arms, her delicate fingers stretched forwards to her partner as they circled the floor, keeping time. This evening her hair was lose, in ringlets, glossy and brown, her tresses soft and luxurious. 

Utterly captivated.

oOo

Gabrielle moved to the open window, and stood beside it, looking out. 

"The weather will break. A great storm is brewing." Her eyes glittered with reflected flame. 

The burning torches in the gardens below were being gradually extinguished. Dark and menacing clouds were gathering.  
A slight breeze ruffling the muslin drapery.

Ominous rumbles broke the heavy silence. A deep drumming vibration some way off but drawing ever closer. 

Arms were threaded around her waist from behind. Warm breath in her ear and against her cheek.  
Turning, she sank into his kiss, pulled towards him with a grateful sigh. 

When they parted, his lids were heavy with desire. 

"Undress for me." He said, gently. "I need a distraction." 

Slowly she obeyed. Loosening her clothes, fumbling to unlace her corset, removing her skirts and petticoats, standing before him in just her chemise, one shoulder exposed. 

"Be gentle with me. Your Eminence." She whispered, her voice tremulous, a mixture of fear and arousal.

His fingers ghosting over her torso, moving the material aside, exposing her, stroking her smooth skin. Then taking her face in his hands, caressing her cheeks, nuzzling against her, his mouth closing over hers as if he would devour her. 

Her own breath hot against his neck, as they separated, her head back, throat exposed to him, as he kissed his way down. Exploring every contour, every mole or blemish, mapping her body with his hungry mouth. 

"So beautiful." He murmured. 

All she could do was whimper and gasp with each new sensation. 

No words, beyond speech, although there was much they both might say, so many incantations, protestations of their lust for each other. 

Helping him pull his undershirt over his head, feeling his chest against her breasts, the smattering of hair in the centre of his sternum, rising and falling rapidly as his heat increased.

Sliding her out of her wisp of remaining clothing, letting it fall aside. 

With a flourish he swept her feet out from under her, carrying her to his bed, laying her down, cradled in his arms, his hand behind her head as if she were an infant. Her arms around his neck now, pulling him down with her, his body between her parted legs.  
Clumsily trying to release his breeches, until her small hands closed over his, pushing them away and taking their place. 

"Let me." She murmured. 

Tugging them down below his knees. Her eyes widening at the sight of his manhood.  
Standing proud away from his body, the skin taut, a vein at the side bulging.  
She touched the shaft gently, thick and heavy in her small hand. 

A hiss of pleasure left him. 

With a loud crack, a fork of lightning rent the sky. Illuminating the room for a few seconds with a blue glow. 

It lit his body in profile.  
His hair and face, the slim torso, his rampant masculinity.  
Kneeling away from her he shucked the trousers off, then bent his head between her legs, placing his hands on her knees, teasing them open. 

Nothing existed for her now but the feel of his tongue against her flesh. 

Moaning and writhing beneath him, she felt as if she might explode. Sensual warmth she'd never experienced in her life, spirals of wildfire coiling through her core. 

Crawling up her body, taking his weight on his arms, seemingly suspended above her.  
He wanted to see her face, for her own eyes to be open, watching him as he positioned himself before carefully, gradually, pushing inside her. 

Crashes of thunder vibrated the air, the heavens opened, torrential rain came lashing down. 

With a flinch and a gasp she took him fully. Tight and wet, and oh so willing. For a moment he stilled. Afraid of hurting her, regaining his own control, which had all but gone, purely with the lust of knowing he was her first.  
A moment to breathe for both of them, before he pulled back, almost withdrawing, then plunging forwards again. Taking her, making her his, claiming her, as he always knew he would. 

Bringing her legs up she wrapped them around his body, her heels digging into his backside. She cried out as she took every last inch of him, throwing back her head, mouth agape, eyes wide.  
No fear now, only need. 

Their foreheads touched briefly. He spoke to her, his voice broken. 

"Feel me! You are mine now." 

Then he plundered her mouth, his tongue moving with the same rhythm as his penis. Double penetration. Deep and forceful.  
They rose and fell together, tumbling and rolling, all cohesion lost. 

As one. Locked. Bonded as their coupling grew more and more frantic and intense. 

The thunder roared around them. The panelled room like a ship's cabin, the vessel tossed on a boiling sea. 

A great streak of lightning shivered the oak tree in the centre of the garden. Splitting it asunder. Sparks and flame leaping up. 

She peaked with a strangled cry, his hand roughly over her mouth to hush her, a few more thrusts and he could hold himself off no longer, pulsing now, hot and strong. 

"Armand!" Her voice no more than a rasping whisper. 

As she felt his release she lifted herself, taking him as deep as she could. 

Wanting the glorious zenith of emotions, the waves of passion, now washing over her, to go on forever. 

He stilled within her. Their dual breathing laboured. Their bodies glistening with sweat, in the still humid air. 

They lay entwined. Their legs wrapped around each other, her head on his chest, his arm holding her in place. 

Calming and cooling. 

As the storm raged on outside, unabated. Lashing rain beating against the mullioned windows. 

Signalling the end of the hot dry spell, a tempest of biblical proportions. 

The wind whipped the curtain, billowing now and damp, as the downpour blew in. Wetting the floor and the sill, but neither could be bothered to move and pull it to.  
Nor trouble to rise and clean themselves.  
Instead they lay in a haze of post coital satisfaction. 

The movement of air delicious. 

She nuzzled her face against him. Breathing his scent. The smell of their sex, their perspiration, her perfume.  
The experience of her first time, profound, she would never forget it. 

The midnight hour. 

The night she gave herself to the Cardinal, the nocturnal storm, which felt and sounded like Armageddon itself. 

For a while they slept, despite the thunder. 

Waking after an hour or so, drowsy but blissfully content, she reached for him, placing her hand over his heart, causing him to instinctively draw her close. 

The rumbles faded, more distant now, like a malevolent dragon. The flashes muted and infrequent. 

"Are you ever afraid Armand?" She asked, into the darkness, raising her chin to look at him. 

"Many times." He replied simply, his fingers playing idly, twirling a lock of her hair. 

Her hand stroked his chest, next to where her head rested. His heart beating strongly beneath her ear. 

"Tell me." She said gently. 

"I was exiled, not so many years ago. Removed from court. Banished to Avignon. I feared for my life, every day. I lost a great deal." He replied, there was a catch in his voice, a suppressed emotional response. 

"What did you do?" She sat up then, but he tugged her back down, pressing her into his side. 

"Oh, a sequence of events I won't bore you with. My patron Signore Concini was brutally killed. I lost the favour of the King. But then relations between Him and Queen Anne soured, and he called me back. Now history repeats itself." 

As the final throes of the storm petered out, they slept heavily. 

She woke again with the first tentative yellowing of the sky, as the night gave way morning, and the sun rose.  
The air washed clean by the rain, the birds singing. A freshness in the gentle breeze. 

Her Cardinal lay on his side, his knees tucked behind her own, his chest against her spine. One arm holding her firmly just below her breasts. 

She could feel the tickle of his beard against her shoulder blade, hear the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, still slumbering deeply.

So this was it. This was what she had been placed here to do. 

It was not as she'd expected. Not for one moment. 

What she felt in the heat of the night, what she was feeling now. Oh sweet Lord! 

This was not supposed to happen. Charged with the task of spying on him, bringing him down, using her feminine wiles to seduce him........not falling for him. 

That had not been on the agenda......

.........yet it had happened.


	6. Paris.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before. 
> 
> The court is returning to Paris. 
> 
> Gabrielle immediately receives a summons from Soissons. Events transpire that are beyond her control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translation of the Gloria is given here......
> 
> Glory be to God in the highest.  
> And in earth peace to men of good will.  
> We praise Thee; we bless Thee;  
> we worship Thee; we glorify Thee.  
> We give thanks to Thee for Thy great glory.  
> O Lord God, Heavenly King,God the Father Almighty.  
> O Lord Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son.  
> Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father.  
> Thou that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.  
> Thou that takest away the sins of the world, receive our prayer.  
> Thou that sittest at the right hand of the Father,have mercy upon us.  
> For thou only art holy,thou only art the Lord, thou only art the most high, Jesus Christ.  
> Together with the Holy Ghost in the glory of God the Father.  
> Amen.
> 
>  
> 
> Bouteville is François Montmorency-Bouteville, from the noble Montmorency family, a violent young rake whose fate we shall learn in a future chapter.

CHAPTER SIX.  
PARIS. 

Yawning and stretching, Gabrielle turned over, to find Armand sitting up on the edge of the bed beside her, his fingers scratching his scalp lazily.  
As she watched, he rose, crossing the room, his naked form before her. She delighted in the view, the curve of his spine, his buttocks and strong legs entranced her. 

A manservant entered quietly, with a pitcher of warm water for washing. No comment nor sign did he make when observing her in his master's bed. Presumably he was not unaccustomed to the sight.  
The door to the garderobe was ajar, she could see him still, as he plunged his head into the basin.  
Laving his armpits and chest with a cloth. 

He almost jumped out of his skin, when she came in behind him, threading her arms around him, resting her head against his back. 

"Armand. Come back to bed. Make me feel again as you did last night. I want that again. Please." 

He turned in her embrace, his hands gripping her shoulders gently. 

"Perhaps later, Cherie! I have duties to perform." He kissed the end of her nose with a smile. 

Emotions awry, she laid her cheek against his chest. Her hands pressed flat against his back, holding him to her firmly. She could feel his genitals against her body, her breasts flush against his ribs. 

"I've never felt anything like that moment. As if I were falling and falling, living and dying, all at once. As God is my witness, Sire, it was how I imagine the coming of the Holy Spirit, a flame, right inside me.  
A spiritual thing, powerful and unworldly." 

She felt a small kiss on the top of her head, his arms surrounding her, squeezing her tight. 

"Ah.....my dear girl, once one has tasted love, one always wants more. Satan places it in front of us as a temptation, and time after time we fall." 

"Is it a sin then? To feel that way about another human being? We were created by God. He gave us the means by which to feel these things. Our hearts and our minds. So how is it wrong?" She raised her head, looking into his face. His eyes were glittering, wet with tears. 

"Because sex is meant to be for the procreation of children. Not to satisfy our base carnal desires. As a priest, the Catholic church advocates the celibate life. As an unmarried woman, you are expected to be chaste. Untouched before your marriage bed. We are sinners both." 

He released his hold on her, turning and reaching for clean clothes, pulling a black shirt over his frame. Still her eyes followed him. 

"Then God will grant us absolution. When we confess our sins to him. Will you hear my confession Sire? Forgive me for my thoughts and deeds? I do not believe the Devil has a hand in love. Only God himself could imagine something so beautiful, so pure, so profound, when it is given willingly and freely between two people." 

Her face was so earnest and open. Her honesty startled him. 

"Later." He murmured. "Come to me later. I will hear your confession. Give you the absolution you desire."

Pushing his feet into his leather boots, he drew a blanket from the bed, wrapping around her nude body to cover her. 

"Take your time. Now I must go to the King. The weather has broken, he will wish to return to Paris. Riders must be sent out to scout the roads, see that they are not washed away. Mass will be held in the chapel later this morning. Be sure to attend." 

Holding her chin in his hand, he raised her face to his and brushed her lips with his own. 

"You should have studied theology Mademoiselle. You would have made a fine priest!" 

With that he crossed the room, as the door was opened by his manservant, with one last look back and a slight smile, he was gone. 

oOo

Incense swirled in a cloud from the silver thurible, as it swung back and forth on its chain. 

All in red. The large gold cross hung around his neck.  
Arms raised in salutation, as voices joined together. 

 

 _Gloria in excelsis Deo._  
_Et in terra paxhominibus bonæ voluntatis._  
_Laudamus te; benedicimus te;adoramus te; glorificamus te._  
_Gratins agimus tibipropter magnam gloriam tuam._  
_Domine Deus, Rex coelestis,Deus Pater omnipotens._  
_Domine Fili unigenite Jesu Christe._  
_Domine Deus, Agnus Dei,Filius Patris._  
_Qui tollis peccata mundi,miserere obis._  
_Qui tollis peccata mundi,suscipe deprecationem nostram._  
_Qui sedes ad dextram Patris, O miserere nobis._  
_Quoniam tu solus Sanctus, tu solus Dominus, tu solum Altissimus, Jesu Christe._  
_Cum Sancto Spirituin gloria Dei Patris._  
_Amen._

One by one the congregation came forward to take communion. 

_"Corpus Christi."_ (The body of Christ.) 

Kneeling before him in reverence, His Eminence The Cardinal placed the Host on her tongue. 

_"Amen."_

Her eyes met his momentarily, and her heart gave a lurch. She kept her hands firmly clasped in front of her, her head bowed meekly until he returned with the chalice. 

_"Sanguis Christi."_ (The Blood of Christ.) 

_"Amen."_

Rising, she genuflected and moved away. Returning to her seat on the wooden pew. Yes, she needed forgiveness for her thoughts right now. Because she was sure that they were decidedly sinful. 

_"In nómine Patris, et Fílii, et Spíritus Sancti."_ (In the name of The Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.) 

Hand raised again in benediction, as the Mass ended. 

_"Deo Gratias."_ (Thanks be to God.) 

oOo

As Richelieu predicted, The King was anxious to return the Court to the Capital. 

There was much to be done and as the King's chief minister it fell to The Cardinal to make the necessary preparations. 

Gabrielle was not sent for. 

She was becoming fearful again. She had gleaned so little information to pass on to her patrons.  
His Eminence was a very careful man. 

He seldom made mistakes, and those he did make, he made on purpose to trap his enemies. 

The journey back to Paris was arduous. The recent rains had turned the roads to ruts and mud and vast puddles.  
The carriages were frequently held up. 

She was relieved to find they would be travelling together. At least she would be by his side.  
For all her fear of him, it was where she now felt most safe. That no harm would come to her. 

In contrast to their first journey, she sat as close to him as she could. Her hand in his, her head resting against his shoulder.  
Some of the way she slept. At one point waking to find herself lying in his lap. His hand resting gently on her hair, stroking through it absentmindedly. 

But he retained a modicum of decorum, neither kissing nor touching her in any other way, although she longed for him to do so. 

He promised much....."when"....."if"......."perhaps." 

Gabrielle only hoped to God he meant his words, because if not, she was lost. 

Lost to herself, because she was in far deeper than she had ever bargained for, and lost to her father and her home, since she had a task to perform, and she was sure she would warrant the displeasure of the likes of Soissons if she failed. 

If The Cardinal knew or guessed her thoughts, he kept it to himself. 

He was playing a game of his own. One he was far more likely to win than she. 

oOo

On her return she was directed to her own apartment at the Louvre Palace, accompanied by her maid.  
Richelieu went to his own residence almost opposite, the opulent Palais-Cardinal. 

Almost immediately a note was received summoning her to The Medici. A coach was sent for her within hours of her arrival home. 

The Queen Mother waited on her, flanked by the Duke her son, Soissons and another, to whom she had not been introduced. 

"Here she is! The pretty one!" Orlèans grinned. "And with the air of one who has been recently fucked if I'm not much mistaken." 

Gabrielle blushed furiously, and cast her eyes down. 

"Is it true?" Her Royal Highness placed a finger under her chin, lifting her head, so that their eyes met.

"Yes, Majesty." She replied quietly. 

"Did he force you?" She enquired, not with concern, but with lasciviousness. 

"No, Majesty." Gabrielle was quite unable to look at the old Queen.

"Well, well! A martyr to your cause! To sacrifice yourself so willingly, give yourself freely, to save your worthless wretch of a father!" 

The young woman did not answer, but she could feel hot tears beginning to come. 

"Well! And what information do you have for us? What have you discovered?" She turned away, as if disappointed, and took a seat. 

Gabrielle sunk to her knees, her legs no longer able to hold her. 

"Majesty, I have tried. The Cardinal is very careful, and very clever. I am seldom alone with him, and when I am there is little opportunity........." Her words gushed forth in a burst of contrition. 

"So.....you have learned nothing......?" Her voice was cold. 

"He keeps his papers in a locked strongbox. I have not yet managed to gain access. The key is on his person at all times.  
But I overheard a conversation. Le Comte was mentioned, and Condé. Also Les Vendômes, and Madame the Duchesse Luynes and Chevreuse. The Cardinal is aware that Mme Chevreuse and Le Comte de Chalais are lovers, and that they plot against himself and The King. He has spies working for him, I heard him say he'll know their plans before they know them themselves." 

There was a long silence. 

The man to whom she had not been introduced, spoke. 

"It is as I thought, he has eyes and ears everywhere. He controls the King like a petulant child. We have to be rid of them both." 

The Queen Mother turned on him angrily. 

"Quiet Bouteville! You are only here at all by the grace of the King. You are still banished from Court for your behaviour. Richelieu, I would have lashed to a wagon and dragged naked through the streets, but the King is my son, however foolish he may be. Watch your mouth!" 

"I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I only meant, if we can be rid of the one, the other may fall into line." He bowed low. 

"My brother relies on L' Eminence Rouge far too heavily. He defers to him in all matters. Once they are separated, that will change. He will listen to us. Now then........" 

Taking Gabrielle by the hand, he raised her up. 

"......all that remains, is what to do with this little one, I think she needs to try much harder. Perhaps she needs more of an incentive? What thinks thee, Soissons? You or I? Or shall we give her to Bouteville here?" 

The Queen Mother herself withdrew discreetly, with a wicked smile, leaving Gabrielle alone with the three men.


	7. Hurt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabrielle is in the clutches of Soissons and his dubious friends. 
> 
> Returning to her apartment, she has a visitor......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence against women in the 17th Century was rife. I hope no one is offended, but please be aware if this is triggering for you.

CHAPTER SEVEN.  
HURT. 

"I think it should be me who shows this one just where her loyalties lie." Bouteville came forward and slid an arm around Gabrielle's waist. 

"Now François, you are not renowned for your gentle nature! This gentle lady is not one of your public house whores. You have already been the death of two men and the serious injury of another with your duelling. May I remind you, this young woman is useful to us. We want to sent her back to her beloved Cardinal undamaged!" Soissons cackled with mirth. 

"And she is under my protection!" He continued, "I cannot allow any hurt to come to her!" 

"Don't worry. Monsieur Le Comte. She is perfectly safe with me, I just want to remind her how grateful she should be that her father is still walking the Earth a free man. With his scrawny neck intact!" 

With that, the rogue dragged Gabrielle from the room, protesting vehemently. 

"Please! Monsieur Le Comte! I beg of you......." 

Her words cut off as the door closed firmly behind him. 

Soissons turned to Orlèans. 

"We allow him a few minutes. Then we intercede. Make no mistake, he _will_ hurt her. He broke a prostitute's arm in a brothel last month. He has a vicious temper." 

As the portal shut with a slam, Gabrielle resigned herself to her fate. She was sure no help would come. 

Encircling her, Bouteville held her firmly, forcing his mouth on hers until she almost fainted for want of air. When his hand started to creep up her skirts, she began to struggle. 

"NO! Monsieur! Don't!" She cried. 

"What? Is only His Eminence allowed access to that tight little cunt of yours?" He smirked, grabbing her crotch roughly. 

Gabrielle screamed and fought, but was soon pinned against the wall. 

"No good fighting Mademoiselle, although it's most admirable. But I WILL fuck you.....eventually!" His breath was hot against her face, hands wandering, eyes blazing.  
With one final effort she bought her knee up between his legs, connecting with all the force she could muster to his groin.

He exhaled sharply. His face turning puce. Clutching himself, his knees together. Eyes watering in pain. Staggering back slightly. 

Gasping with the effort of defending herself, Gabrielle tried to make her escape. 

Nothing could possibly have inflamed her assailant's wrath more than what she did. 

His anger seethed and boiled. 

Taking her roughly by the arm, he bent it painfully behind her, whilst forcing her down onto the floor. Holding her down with a knee in the centre of her back, he reached for the leather belt around his waist, removing it deftly, speaking to her through gritted teeth the whole while. 

"You are going to be so sorry for that! So very sorry. You will pay dearly. Mademoiselle!" 

He ripped away the back of her dress and undergarments, exposing her bare flesh. Sitting astride her now as she writhed and kicked beneath him. A futile gesture, as he was far too strong. 

Her cries and screams echoing throughout the rooms. 

The first lash of the belt across her back, momentarily silenced her. The yell caught in her throat and died.  
A mixture of pain and shock. 

The second bought her back to her senses, and she wailed to God for mercy. He managed to give her another welt, before an urgent voice halted him. 

"FRANÇOIS! ENOUGH!" Hands dragged him roughly from her, although he tried to fight back. 

It was Soissons who helped her to her feet. Sobbing now and trying to cover herself as best she could. 

She was led away, a shawl placed around her shoulders, given a glass of brandy. Which burned as she swallowed it, but strengthened her somewhat. 

Barely remembering the ride home. 

She shut her door and slid down to the floor in a heap. 

oOo

The copper hip bath was draped with a muslin cloth. Warm water fetched and poured in from a large ewer. 

Her maid servant undressed her gently and tenderly. 

"What happened mistress?" 

No words would come from her, only wracking sobs. 

Once nude, her hand was taken, and she was helped inside. Seated in the water. 

Wincing in pain at the sting. 

"I have some salve mademoiselle, when we are finished, I will apply some, it will ease the discomfort. The welts are deep. They will take weeks to disappear."  
Carefully a cloth was squeezed over her shoulders, letting the warmth trickle down. Soothing the hurts. 

"What am I to do? He mustn't see them.......he will want to know how I came by them......." She wept bitterly. 

"What mustn't he see?" The voice from behind the two women startled them both. 

Her maid dropped the washcloth and backed away in fear, the piercing eyes fixed upon her. 

"Leave us." A dismissive sweep of his hand. 

She obeyed without a word. 

Crossing the room, he knelt at the side of the tub. His eyes taking in the sight, hair pinned up away from her neck, stray tendrils sticking to her shoulders, her tear stained face, her body, shining and wet, the mounds of her breasts, nipples pert and pink, her knees, each one bruised from her fight. 

"I say again." He repeated softly. "What mustn't I see?" 

With her face held in her hands she began to cry again, leaning forwards, so he could see the damage. 

His fingertips traced the marks with a feather touch, causing her to suck in her breath, then release it. When finally she raised her head again. He stroked her damp cheek. 

"Who did this? Soissons?" His tone was very calm, although inwardly he was ready to burst. 

She shook her head to the negative. 

"Who then?" He pressed. "Gabrielle." He added, more firmly. "I will know." 

"A man I'd never met before, I was summoned to see Le Comte, as my patron. This man was there, he attacked me."  
She spoke through her broken sobs. 

"The name Gabrielle. Tell me." He took her naked shoulders and shook her slightly. 

"They called him Bouteville. François."

The wrath hit like a wave. 

"Kah!" He cursed and rose to his feet, pacing back and forth in front of the bath. 

"And Soissons stood by, let it happen?" He spat. 

"He stopped him......eventually. He took me to another room, he was trying to rape me.......but I.......I fought......like a mad thing.......I kneed him between the legs......it made him VERY angry!" She wept anew at the memory, hugging her knees, rocking slightly in her anguish. 

"Why did he allow it? He must know what Bouteville is like?" 

"I think he thought it was harmless fun, that no hurt was meant.....I don't think he knew what Bouteville was planning......I........I don't know what he thought......." She dissolved into tears again. 

"Armand! Don't be angry with me." She whispered. 

He came back to her side then, taking her by the hands, standing her up and helping her out of the tub, enveloping her in a large sheet. Then placing his arms around her where she stood, holding her close. 

"Shhh! Shhhh! Cherie. No more tears. You are safe now. Come.....come with me." 

He took her to her own bed, an arm protectively around her shoulder. 

"Don't leave me." The gentle plea, as he leaned in and touched her brow in a blessing. 

Once she was comfortable, she lay back, watching him disrobe, drawing back the coverlet, and joining her. Surrounding her with his warmth.  
Pulling her into a kiss, touching her with his hands maddeningly, until she begged for him. 

"What have you done to me, little Gabrielle? I think of you all the time, imagining myself doing this......" He whispered, as he parted her legs, before penetrating her slowly, moving sensually inside her, making her moan. Building slowly, increasing speed as his own passion grew. 

"Sweet Armand! I am yours!" She cried, as she came beneath him. Clinging to his body as if her very life depended upon it. 

Her words stung him to the core. 

He reached his own peak shortly afterwards, her own inner contractions pushing him over the edge.  
Pumping into her, the veins in his neck bulging, mouth open, eyes tight shut, gasping through the throes. Then falling to one side, letting his thudding heart return to normal. 

His fury remained unabated, but for now it was held inside, simmering within his breast. 

Beside him Gabrielle lay, curled into him, her limbs tangled with his. Sleeping, feeling safe and warm and protected. 

But Armand Jean du Plessis lay awake. Comforting the young woman snuggled close to his body. 

Making plans.


	8. Her Majesty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cardinal is attempting to effect a reconciliation between the King and Queen. 
> 
> He is weary when he returns home to find Gabrielle waiting for him.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queen Anne of Austria blamed Richelieu for her unhappy marriage, despite the fact that he was not in power when they were first married. 
> 
> By the time of this story she had already given birth to two stillborn children and was to go on to have two more.  
> A live child wasn't born until 1638, when she gave birth to her son Louis, followed in 1640 by his brother Phillipe.
> 
> The Cardinals reply to Gabrielle regarding his potential treatment of Bouteville (in Italics) is a direct quote from the man himself.  
> It gives a small insight into his thought processes.

CHAPTER EIGHT.  
HER MAJESTY. 

"I know that God has seen fit to take your children before they had a chance to experience life, Your Majesty." 

The Cardinal stood before his Queen.

She sat enthroned before him, an empty chair beside her. Her face sour. 

"We none of us know what reasons he has, but we cannot question why. Sometimes it is just His will." He kept his eyes low in supplication and deference. 

"Ever since you have been Our minister, my husband has neglected me, and our children have died at birth." She responded, her hands folded in her lap, twisting her fingers together nervously. 

"Majesty, your infants were born before I held any power at all. Your marriage is to a King. A child of France. The responsibilities that go with that are enormous. It is only natural that he should be occupied with affairs of State. Think how much better it would be for His Majesty, knowing he has the full love and support of his Queen. To guide and succour him, to love and cherish him. Doesn't every man long for that in a dutiful wife?" 

Moving forwards, he went down onto one knee, taking her hand and kissing the ring she wore there.

"Majesty. The King loves and esteems you. You are his chosen spouse. If you are agreeable, I will arrange to say a special mass. To bless your marriage bed. To beseech the Lord to look favourably upon you, and give you a son. Would that be agreeable to you?" 

"You would ask God, to grant me a child? You would intercede between myself and my husband? Will you talk to him My Lord Cardinal? He will listen to you, he listens to you in all things, as well as matters of state. He is apart from me so much. I barely see him, and when I do, we do not speak.  
He is aloof and distant from me. He sees me as purely a marriage of alliance and convenience. It is no longer a love match." Her voice wavered, and her proud head drooped. 

"I am quite sure the King loves you Your Majesty. You are a fine and loyal Queen. But perhaps he feels that the friendship you have with those who seek to undermine him, is misplaced?  
The power of the King is absolute. That is as it should be. The power of the magnates must not be greater. Or else how is a King to rule?" 

Rising, he backed away slightly, but held Queen Anne's gaze steadily. 

"You do not care about the power of the King. You only seek power for yourself!" She declared. 

Richelieu sighed audibly. 

"Madame. Any power I may have rests solely upon the goodwill of His Majesty. So, from that point of view it is in my interest to help keep him on the top of the pile, but my main concern is that there are those who would have him as their puppet. Not for the good of France, but for their own advancement. That is where I differ. My thoughts are only for the country I love. A strong King governs wisely. Any weakness is pounced upon, by those at home, and those abroad.  
An enemy of the King is an enemy of mine, and of France."

Her Royal Majesty rose from her seat, a slight smile on her face, just as her husband entered and took his seat at her side. 

"Fine words Eminence. Fine words indeed." She said. 

"The truth. Your Highness. I am the King's loyal and humble servant.....in all things. And now, with your leave I will go and prepare myself to say a Mass for your Majesties. And pray for a reconciliation from your difficulties." 

Bowing low, he swept from the room. Walking briskly and with purpose. 

Turning to her spouse she remarked....

"He reminds me of a malevolent spider. In the centre of his web. Waiting for the flies to come and be caught." 

"He is a good man, and a good minister. I will not have it said otherwise." The King replied. "Come, Madame. We will repair to the chapel, to hear the mass, and tonight I will visit you, if you are willing!" 

oOo

The atmosphere inside the Royal Chapel was sombre and dark. 

With a lighted taper in one hand, the flame shielded by the other, The Cardinal lit many candles.  
Their Royal Majesties kneeing at the altar rail side by side. 

As the prayer was intoned, he saw Louis reach for the hand of his wife and squeeze her fingers. 

There was hope yet, he thought.  
Of the two children born so far to the Queen, neither had lived more than a few minutes, and it had been sometime since she had conceived.  
Richelieu was convinced that her distemper towards the King was to blame. No matter how often they shared a bed, no issue would come whilst they remained in bad humour with each other. 

_ADIUVET nos, quaesumus Domine, gloriosae tuae Genetricis semperque Virginis Mariae intercessio veneranda; ut quos perpetuis cumulavit beneficiis, a cunctis periculis absolutos, sua faciat pietate concordes: Qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum. Amen._

_MAY we be assisted, we beseech Thee, O Lord, by the worshipful intercession of Thy glorious Mother, the ever-Virgin Mary; that we, who have been enriched by her perpetual blessings, may be delivered from all dangers, and through her loving kindness made to be of one heart and mind: Who livest and reignest for ever and ever. Amen._

 

oOo

It was evening when Armand returned to his own residence at Palais-Cardinal. 

Gabrielle was waiting for him. 

A week had passed since their last meeting, following her fateful visit to the Luxembourg Palace. 

"Good evening. Your Eminence." She curtsied prettily and came forward as he entered. 

"You received my message then?" He remarked, his eyes brightening at the sight of her. 

"Have you eaten? I had your man bring some bread and cheese, fruit and wine." 

She took his hand in her own, and led him to the table, seating him, then pouring a glass for him. Bending to help him remove his boots. 

"You look tired, Sire." She observed. "Is your head giving you pain again?" 

"I have now become a marriage councillor to the King. On top of all my duties as First Minister, I am expected to be nursemaid to two squabbling children!" 

He ran a hand over his face wearily. 

"Take off your jerkin, My Lord. I will do my best to ease your poor head." 

Her master was just about to comply, when there came a sharp rap on the door. 

The manservant entered, holding a missive, sealed with red wax. Taking it, he dismissed the servant summarily and opened the letter, reading silently for a few moments, then handing it to Gabrielle. 

"Read it!" He directed. 

She obeyed.

"Bouteville has fought another duel. His second has killed a man." She handed the letter back. 

"He is a serial offender! He has defied the law, and the King. This time, he will be hunted down and arrested, and he will pay. No doubt he has fled Paris to save his miserable hide. But I will seek him out, and he will be very sorry indeed." 

She knelt at his side, her hand gently resting on his knee. 

"What will happen to him?" She asked softly. 

"He will be dealt with without mercy!" The hardness in his voice, belied his mood, which was serene in her presence despite the cares of the day. 

"Then the King will give him no quarter?" Her eyes were sought and held his own. 

_"Harshness towards individuals who flout the laws and commands of the state is for the public good, no greater crime against the public interest is possible than to show leniency to those who violate it."_

His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose with a grimace of pain. 

Rising, Gabrielle moved his hand aside and began to gently massage his temples, brow and forehead with her little fingers, standing behind his chair, as he leant his head back gratefully.  
When she had finished, he gave a sigh of contentment at being thus relieved, and she came around in front of him. 

"Can I ask a favour of you now, Sire?" Her request was tentative, and her master was unsure as to what she might require. 

"What is it?" He asked warily. 

"The physician has given me some salve, for my back. It has beeswax, honey and rosemary oil, to promote healing. Would you apply some for me?" 

The look on her face was so honest, so open, and so without ulterior motive, that he wondered how anyone could be so uncomplicated and innocent as she appeared to be. 

"Willingly." He replied, licking his lips. 

He watched avidly as she unfastened her dress. Once the laces were loosened, she exposed her back and bare shoulders to him, holding up her hair. She sat herself on a stool beside his chair. Holding her chemise to cover her breasts demurely. 

The beauty of her skin was marred by the three welts across her spine and shoulder blades, which were slowly healing, although still livid with bruising.  
Dipping his fingertips into the pot she'd given him, he smoothed a small amount of the ointment across her shoulders, working down towards her waist. 

She gave a hiss, and flinched at his first touch, turning her head slightly to look at him. 

"Am I hurting you?" He asked. 

"No. It's just a little sore at first. It improves daily, and now this medicine will speed up the process. Thank you Armand. You are kind to me." 

"And you.....you are not even aware of the effect you have upon me, or why......are you Cherie?" 

She blushed and turned away from him. 

His fingers explored gently, until the oil was absorbed, then turned to caressing her, bringing his head into her neck and nuzzling there, a little nip on the lobe of her ear, his breath warm against her. She faced him now, losing her grip on her chemise, which fell away, her hands cupping his cheeks as their lips fastened onto each other.  
It was a long, slow and sensual kiss, mouths working together, his tongue flicking teasingly, making her whimper and press herself into his body. 

Lifting her into his lap, her legs on either side of his body, she slid her hands underneath his shirt, stroking across his nipples and down towards his stomach, causing him to suck in his breath sharply.  
"Take off your breeches, let me see you." She murmured. He obeyed, lifting her and his backside up from the chair, tugging his trousers down then kicking them aside. 

His hands pushed up under her skirts, bunching them around her thighs, lifting them so that he could see and feel her. 

"Look what you do to me! How you inflame me so easily!" He muttered, leaning away so that his hot, stiff member strained upwards proudly between their bodies.  
Levering herself against his shoulders, she rose up then sank back down, taking him inside her fully, with a groan of bliss.  
"You learn fast Mademoiselle!" He breathed.  
She rode him then, still astride his hips, his face pressed into her chest, his desire burning, incapable of anything other than sitting more or less still and letting her do the work.  
Her release came quickly, crushing her mouth against his, then whispering his name, which pushed him to the brink and then into glorious oblivion with a muffled cry. 

Their kissing turned languid and sensual. Before they separated and she rested her head down upon his shoulder, as he sat, limp and boneless beneath her. 

"You will be the death of me my love!" He gasped. 

"You are life to me." She murmured in reply, surrounding his head with her arms tenderly and bringing it to rest gently against her heaving breast.


	9. Betrayal.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabrielle finds Richelieu's strong box left open and unattended. 
> 
> She takes her chance. 
> 
> But her own actions sicken her. 
> 
> She is torn, between her cardinal and her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Treaty of Compiègne took place in 1624. So the time frame is altered slightly for the purposes of my story.  
> Richelieu was pretty much in charge of brokering the deal with the Dutch.  
> It was a lucrative one for France in several ways, uniting them against the Spanish and the Hapsburg empire and forging trade in the East Asia region. 
> 
> Richelieu was quite happy to negotiate with any ally, regardless of religion, if it was in France's best interests. He may have been crushing Huguenot uprisings, but foreign policy and the strength of his country did not depend on religious differences. 
> 
>  
> 
> The Tuileries gardens were private gardens at the time of Louis XIII. He and members of the Court used them for hunting and recreation. 
> 
> He kept a menagerie there, which could be viewed by the nobility. There was also stables and a riding school, set up by his mother.

CHAPTER NINE.  
BETRAYAL. 

_A week or so later......._

Gabrielle was staying the night at the Palais-Cardinal. 

She woke in Richelieu's large bed. Curled under his arm. 

How had he come to mean so much to her? She hardly knew. 

He was still slumbering deeply, and she propped herself up onto one elbow to watch him sleep. 

His eyelashes were long, and brushed the pale cheek which was sunken slightly in his relaxed state.  
A heavy brow line. His profile was Roman, prominently so. Gently she traced a fingertip down the line of that nose, smiling slightly as he stirred and twitched under her touch. 

The sensitive mouth transfixed her, lips so soft, how she loved the feel of them, the brush of his facial hair against her chin and under her nose when they kissed. 

So mesmerised was she by the curve of his jaw and neck, that she failed to notice his eyes were open and regarding her surreptitiously.

A gasp left her when she was surprised by his lascivious stare. 

"You're awake!" She giggled. 

"What were you doing?" He asked, turning onto his side to face her. 

"Observing you in repose." She replied, colouring visibly. "You are beautiful." 

"What a strange little thing you are." A slight smile crossed his face, and he reached forwards twisting a curl of her hair around one long finger. 

He sat up, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. 

"You must make yourself scarce this morning. I have important meetings and I want you out of the way." 

"Yes. Your Eminence." She replied, crestfallen. 

"But.....later......" He added, hurriedly, ".......if you desire.......we will walk together in the Tuileries gardens. It is a fine day. Would that please you?" 

Her face beamed, radiant with happiness. 

"Yes, My Lord! Very much! May we see the lions?" 

"We may!" He responded, genially. "Now! Away with you!" He smacked her bare bottom playfully.  
"I have to wash and dress and prepare myself." 

She gave a little squeak as she gathered her clothes together and slipped into his ante chamber to wash and dress herself, and fix up her hair. 

oOo

The manservant had kindly left water and a pitcher ready for her use, and breakfast laid out on a little table in the salon her master used as a sitting room. 

His meeting would take place in his own study, the heavy door closed tight. 

It was after completing her ablutions and helping herself to bread, and a slice of omelette, that she suddenly noticed the strong box, where the Cardinal kept his private correspondence and letters of State.

It was standing on a side table, unlocked, and open. The key beside it. Some of the contents spilling out. 

A frisson of fear ran right through her, as she glanced back towards the half open door. Moving across the room she closed it to, carefully, leaving it open just a crack. 

Her heart thumping wildly in her chest. 

There were many foreign letters, written in Spanish, in English and in French. As she could not read any language but her own, she could make no sense some of them. 

Glancing towards the door frequently, in constant terror of discovery, she delved deeper into the chest. 

Several of the missives were in the same flamboyant hand. They carried the great seal of The Netherlands, the lion and the sword, which she recognised. 

It spoke of the war effort between The Dutch and Spain. The Cardinal was offering a loan, in the name of The King, to help finance the campaign. 

480,000 thalers was the price, with more to follow in instalments over an agreed period. 

Attached to the missive were stern epistles from King Ferdinand of The Hapsburg's himself, fearful and angry that a alliance between these two countries would undermine and threaten his own. The Cardinal's replies were placatory and diplomatic, but also dismissive and somewhat inflammatory. 

Gabrielle's eyes scanned the documents hurriedly, her eyes wide, as she took in the contents.  
Stealing the letters was out of the question, they would be immediately missed. She would have to commit the words to memory as best she could, then pass the information on. 

Her fingers shook as she discovered and unfolded a large document, written on vellum in a flowing hand, setting out the terms of a treaty.  
France would supply the Dutch with war ships. Lucrative trade routes would be founded in East Asia, once the dispute with the Dutch there was settled. It would bring France new riches untold. The two countries would also support each other to stamp out piracy on the Barbary Coast. 

 

So intent on devouring the contents of this important paper was she, that she did not hear the creak of a floorboard in the doorway behind her, nor notice the dark shadow there. 

 

Here was evidence that The King of France, but mainly his First Minister; the scourge of the Huguenots, a devout Catholic, a Cardinal representing the Pope himself, was making alliances with a Protestant State, directly in opposition to The Church in Rome. 

Gabrielle understood little of politics, and still less of diplomacy and foreign policy, but she knew that the likes of Marie de Medici, Duc d'Orlèans, her patron Soissons and the others would not be aware of this momentous state of affairs, and that this was valuable information indeed. 

Carefully, she folded and replaced the letters and documents as she had found them. Leaving the box lid open, as it had been when she'd entered the room. 

Mere seconds after she had returned to seat herself at the table, Richelieu entered with a flourish, he startled her, as he swept briskly into the room. 

He was wearing his long cape, lined with red brocade, and high boots. 

"Well, Mademoiselle? Are you finished?" He said, somewhat sharply. 

Gabrielle blushed furiously, and could not look at him. 

"Finished?" She whispered. 

"Yes! Breaking your fast! We were going to walk......remember?" 

He crossed the room to the strong box, closing the lid with a snap and turning the key in the lock, placing it into the pouch which hung from his belt. 

"Oh, yes! Of course! Is your meeting done?" She breathed with relief. 

"It is! Business concluded! I now have time to devote just to you, Cherie!" 

He held his hand out to her, and she took it. The shame she felt, at her own actions, was tangible. Her cheeks burned with it. 

The Cardinal regarded her closely.

"Are you quite well, my dear? You look flushed." 

"Quite well! It's a little stuffy in here. The fresh air will do me good." She replied, and tried to smile. 

oOo

 

The summer was waning fast, the leaves changing colour, in the Tuileries gardens there was a blaze of colour. 

The King kept a menagerie, and The Cardinal took her to see the animals. 

Exotic, fascinating. 

They spent an hour walking in the Autumn sunshine. The walkways private and secluded. 

She was taken to see the lions as requested. There were also bears, and a giraffe, and many brightly coloured parrots from the Americas. 

Gabrielle watched through the bars of the lions cage, as the creatures lay basking in the warmth, or prowled restlessly up and down. 

"Poor things." She murmured. "They are no better than prisoners. Fettered and caged, and far from their homeland." 

"The lion is supposed to be the King of Beasts." Richelieu commented, his arm through hers. "And yet, even the most mighty can be bought low. Tamed and subdued. Turned to the will of another. Such is the case with all things." 

Gabrielle looked up at him fearfully. But his face was irrepressibly sad, eyes glittering as he blinked under his lashes.  
She swallowed heavily, and felt a lump in her throat. 

"But sometimes, the most indomitable of spirits can remain unbroken." She replied softly. "A captured beast can appear conquered on the outside, but still retain its wild and free nature. It is said, 'A horse can be led to water, but cannot be forced to drink'." 

"What is this?" He enquired kindly, and not without surprise, as a tear coursed down her cheek. "Melancholy? I would say you are in low spirits yourself, Mademoiselle. What ails you?" 

"I am worried for my father. Your Eminence. Since he was imprisoned, his health has been poor. The damp conditions there inflamed the lungs, he coughs, and cannot rest at night. He writes to me that he is in constant fear, from the rebels and uprisings on our doorstep, and I am more and more afraid for him. He is all I have." 

A hand was placed over the top of hers as it rested on his arm, the fingers curling around her own. 

"You have me." He said, his voice hard and cold, the warmth gone. 

She could not hold in the sob that left her. Clamping her other hand over her mouth in an attempt to hold it back. 

"Let us go back, My Lord. I feel sick and faint." She swayed slightly, and he held on to her arm, drawing her closer, keeping her upright, as they headed back along the pergola covered walk. 

"I will call for a carriage to take you home. Lay down when you get there, little Gabrielle, rest yourself. I will send for you again, in time." 

She nodded numbly, as they reached the courtyard, where a coach waited. Handing her into it, he spoke to the coachman. Then leaned in through the window. 

"All will be well, Cherie. Never fear." He took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. Then called to the driver, and the carriage moved away. 

From the window, she looked back. 

He was standing, his cloak billowing around him, motionless, watching her roll away. Then she saw him turn, with a swirl of red and disappear inside. 

She wept all the way home.


	10. Cobweb.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabrielle is given a fresh task by Le Comte de Soissons. 
> 
> Later, at Palais-Cardinal, she is low and miserable, until a fortuitous chance presents itself......

CHAPTER TEN.  
COBWEB. 

"You have done well indeed, mademoiselle. I am pleased. It has taken a while, but I'm glad to know you have seen sense, and done what is required of you." 

Le Comte de Soissons was seated alone at table, plates of food spread before him. He was devouring a leg of roasted fowl, his fingers and chin greasy.  
Wiping them on a square of white cloth he quaffed from a glass of wine, and sat back, looking content.

"Then you will release me from my task?" Her voice hopeful, almost eager. 

To her dismay, he threw back his head and began to laugh. 

He continued for some moments, before ceasing and looking at her curiously. 

"No! It cannot be!" He chortled, still mirthful. "My dear girl....you actually thought that once you had completed one test, that your work would be done?" 

He cackled afresh. 

"You are only just beginning Mademoiselle. There is much more for you to do yet!" 

Gabrielle stammered a protest. 

"But....Monsieur Le Comte.....I cannot.....not again.....he will know, he will guess......he will kill me!" 

She sank to her knees, weeping. 

"Stop this nonsense at once!" His voice was harsh as he threw down the napkin, his chair scraping the floor as he rose to his feet. 

"You will steal the document of which you speak. He will not miss it immediately. You will steal it, and bring it to me. Afterwards you can put it back, but I will see it with my own eyes. We will have him for this.....it is treason! He is working alone, without the express permission of the King......wheeling and dealing......and lining his own pockets in the process."

"NO! PLEASE! My Lord! I cannot! Please don't ask this of me.......I cannot.....will not do it......"

Her sobs wracked her, as she struggled to her feet, her head bent and held in her hands. 

"May I remind you of what happened last time you sought to defy me? Would you have me send you to Monsieur Montmorency-Bouteville? Perhaps a little overnight stay? And then there's the small matter of your poor father, he is sick I understand?" 

His face was crossed by an evil rictus grin. 

"Monsieur, you cannot......I beg you.....on my knees......please......spare me, and my poor father." 

She sank down a second time, her forehead almost touching the floor. 

"GET UP! Grovelling will not work with me. Do as you are told, and do it quickly.....or it will be the worse for you." 

oOo

It was a desolate Gabrielle Durfort who received a summons to the Palais-Cardinal the following day. Without hope. 

Several things were now abundantly clear to her.....

She would never be free of Soissons and the plotting of The Medici and her supporters.

There was no choice she could see but to obey them. 

The only place she felt safe and whole, was in the arms of the one person she was meant to despise and injure. 

Her punishment, should she be caught would be harsh, she might even die, her betrayal of her lover so heinous. 

It was breaking her......tearing her apart.  
By the need to do as she was told for her father's sake, and by potentially hurting the man she loved so desperately.  
And yes, she knew now, she loved him. Completely.  
The way he made her feel was unlike anything she'd experienced before. The first night he'd taken her, she giving herself to him freely, she would never feel that way for another, not even if her life should be long.  
A day spent at his side was blessed. Balm to the soul. He was unfailing gentle and kind.  
Spending a night with him was heaven, with deep and lasting tenderness. Surrounded and protected, with a warmth that she'd only previously received as a child. 

The more she knew of him, the more she cleaved to him, and yet she was charged with betraying him to his enemies, and she couldn't bear to live with herself for it. 

They were seated side by side now, by the hearth. In front of a bright fire. 

She was huddled there, the air had turned suddenly chill, the flames were hot, but nothing could warm her. Cold seemed to gnaw at her and she gave an involuntary shudder.  
Sitting in companionable silence, Armand looked up from the book he was reading, and regarded her dolefully. 

"Gabrielle? You tremble.....what is wrong?" 

"Nothing your eminence, I am cold, that is all." She shivered, bending her knees and drawing her feet up onto the chair. 

"You sit right on top of the fire! It will scorch you!" He laid his book aside and patted his lap. 

"Come to me, Cherie." He offered. 

Rising, she crawled into him, her legs curled up, her head buried into the comforting warmth of his chest. He surrounded her in an embrace, holding her tight. One hand rubbing up and down her arm soothingly. 

"Such a great weight." He remarked. 

She raised her head to look at him, her chin wobbling, close to tears, not trusting herself to speak. 

"The burden you carry." He continued. "I fear your troubles are as great as mine." 

Nodding, she lay her head back down, nuzzling against the soft material of his shirt. A kiss was placed on the top of her head, and he spoke again. 

"A great reckoning is coming Gabrielle. It will be me against my enemies who constantly plot against me. I do not know if I will triumph or if I will fall. Nothing is certain. But, know this......I am not afraid. I am fond of you, your sweet nature, your bravery, your unquenchable spirit. You have bought me great peace at times, healed my head when it was at its worst, and reminded me that sometimes things happen that we cannot control, no matter how hard we try to fight against them. A valuable lesson." 

Her only reply was a sniffle from the folds of his undershirt, her tears soaking into the linen. 

"Don't cry, little one. The Lord our God, our dear Saviour, who looks down upon us all, who knows all the secrets of our hearts, he will give us salvation, we will have eternal rest. No matter what transpires."

Wiping her face with her hand, she sat up. 

"Before I came to you, I didn't know what physical love was. I had only ever had the love of a parent to a child. Being with you thus has become essential to me. I crave it. To feel close, like this. To feel safe, and free from fear......I only feel that when I am here......as I am now.....with you, Armand." 

He touched her damp cheek with a finger. Giving a little smile. 

"You know, I am constantly taken to task for the decisions and choices I make. When I recruit a man to do a job, I don't trouble myself with his religious leanings or the nobility of his birth. His rank or status. I only consider whether he is the man best suited to perform the task. It is no one's God given right to hold a post of any kind, save that of the King himself. I try to do my best, Cherie, I work hard, for the good of France, and for love of my King, and of my God. Everything else is flummery. Do you understand?" 

"Yes. Your Eminence. The choices we make sometimes seem to be bad ones, but end up for the best. What happens is out of our hands. It is God's will. We must accept. Have fortitude. Trust in his mercy, and ask his forgiveness when we are weak, or stray. I understand."

The fire crackled and spat, and the evening candles were lit early as darkness descended. 

Gabrielle sat on, her head fallen forward onto her breast, dozing in the warmth from the blaze. 

When she awoke, the Cardinal was not there. He had lifted her from his lap and left her curled in his chair, a coverlet draped over her, she could neither hear nor see him nearby. 

She stretched out her limbs and sat up. Glancing around her, listening for his step. Although she heard nothing. 

Rising stiffly she crossed the room. 

The strong box of letters and correspondence sat on the desk before her. 

As before, it was open. 

More full than the previous time. 

Surely this was providence! 

Genuflecting, she went down on her knees. Mouthing a silent prayer for forgiveness for what she was about to do. 

Glancing over her shoulder to check the coast was clear, she rifled hurriedly through the contents, searching for the Treaty. 

She had to remove several missives, digging down into the bottom of the box, whispering to herself as she hunted.  
"Dear God in Heaven, please, let it be here! Where is it? Where is it?" 

A voice behind her made her heart stop. 

"Is this what you are searching for Mademoiselle?" 

She turned in horror, the colour draining from her face. 

He was standing in the doorway. Glowering at her. His piercing blue eyes hard as flint. 

He was holding the Treaty aloft, between his thumb and forefinger, waving it provocatively. 

She was caught.


	11. Angel of Mercy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught.......red handed.......what will The Cardinal do?

CHAPTER ELEVEN.  
ANGEL OF MERCY. 

The two stared at each other for several moments. 

Neither spoke. 

Gabrielle appeared frozen. 

Richelieu watched the mixture of thoughts and emotions pass across her face.  
Terror and shame, but ultimately, and perhaps most surprisingly, relief. 

It was over. 

"Armand.......I........." She stammered, unable to voice a coherent thought. 

"Take it!" He responded quietly, through gritted teeth. Throwing the Treaty onto the floor at her feet. "Your thirty pieces of silver!" 

His tone more harsh and cold than she had ever heard it. 

Still she remained rooted to the spot. Unable to move. 

If he expected begging, or a desperate protestation of her innocence, he was disappointed. 

"What will you do to me?" She whispered at last. 

He laughed an empty chilling laugh. 

"Fearful for your own skin? Now you know I am fully aware that you are no more than Soisson's creature?" 

He took a step towards her, and she backed away. 

"NO! I'm not afraid of that." She replied bravely. "I don't care what happens to me any more. As of this moment. I only pray that my father will be cared for, he is sick, and when I am despatched from this world, he will be alone." 

Her mouth trembled and silent tears fell hot and fast down her cheeks, but she ignored them. 

The Cardinal hesitated for a moment, his eyes burned into her very soul. His tone remained dull but resolute. 

"You have played a dangerous game Mademoiselle. One that you were never qualified for. And you have lost. You are a mere pawn on the chess board. Your Queen has been taken, your knights are dead, only your Bishop remains, and he cannot defend you." 

With an exhale of air, Gabrielle sank down to her knees, her face white, lips blue. She was prevented from prostrating herself only by his legs, as he moved forward quickly to catch her.  
Instead she gripped her arms around them, just above the knees, her face against his thighs. 

Clinging to him, as she burst into a hail of tears, and words came tumbling out. 

"Do what you will with me. I cannot prevent it. I no longer wish to live anyway. Death would be a blessèd release. I was told by those that own my very soul, that you were a monster. That you were vicious and cruel. I was to seduce you, then pass any information I might glean to them. My father was the leverage, I had no choice.  
You saw what happened when I displeased them. I still bear the marks.  
How was I to know the truth? Who was the good and who was the bad? Who false and who true?  
I knew nothing but what what I was told.  
Oh sweet Jesu!  
None of this was supposed to happen......I was to come to Court......an adventure......to experience the gaiety, the colour, the life, to perhaps find a husband, secure my future, help my father......."

She hung upon his legs, sinking further down, until her face was close to his feet, resting against his boots.  
Unable to move without toppling over, he braced himself against the onslaught, towering over her. 

Bending, he hooked his hands firmly under her elbows, and tugged her up.

"Get up! Mademoiselle. Stand! I implore you! You degrade yourself, and me to grovel thus." 

Her legs seemed unable to hold her weight, her face was one of despair and resignation.

"I do not ask for mercy." She murmured. "I have done what I have done. I have betrayed your trust, God in Heaven! For that I am most truly sorry. I only ask that my death be a quick one. And that my father will be spared the knowledge of my true fate." 

Her lifeless eyes met his then, and she could see tears there, swimming, blurring his vision, about to fall.  
She was only upright by dint of him holding onto her, her limbs limp and useless. 

"I thought you knew me better than that, Cherie." He answered, his voice calm, a deep sadness there. 

"I only know that I have done you great wrong, and that I deserve to be punished. That I am a traitor to France, and to you.....my dearest Lord. I doubt even my faith in God, since he has seen fit to bring all this upon me. There is nothing I can do to make amends." 

He shook his head, profoundly moved by her words. 

Sobs jarred her whole body, her strength seemed to have left her, and she hung in his arms like a rag doll. 

"Come......sit........sit before you fall, before I cannot hold you a moment longer and have to let you down." 

So disturbed was she by his actions and his feint of kindness she seemed quite unable to function.  
It was incomprehensible.  
Surely he should be ranting, angry and disgusted with her?  
Yet he seemed quiet, cool and measured. Was it the calm before the storm?  
At any moment might he strike her, or have the guards called to drag her away? She was confused, and more frightened than at any time in her life thus far. Waiting for the inevitable eruption. 

When he realised she was rigid and immovable with fear, he lifted her, an arm around her back, the other under her legs at the knee.  
Carrying her to his bedroom, and laying her down, with great delicacy. 

"Tell me little Gabrielle.......what do you think of me? I want the truth......." His face was expectant, as if waiting for some great revelation. 

She swallowed thickly, still weeping uncontrollably. Her nose ran, her eyes red and sore. 

"I love you." She blurted, then buried her face into the pillow and sobbed. 

For several minutes he let her cry, a hand circling gently against her back. Not speaking.  
Eventually, he voiced his thoughts. 

"I know, Cherie. I've always known."

The statement so matter of fact, so simple, she hushed for a moment and raised her head. 

The face that stared back at her was impassive, a vague hint of a smile. 

"But......." Wiping her hand across her face, she regarded him with puzzlement. 

"Would you say I was a good judge of character?" He asked, his fingers straying to her hair, tucking a curl, damp with salty tears, behind her ear. 

"Yes. Your Eminence. None better." She replied honestly. 

He nodded in response. 

"When you first came to my attention, the one thing about you that stood out, above everything else, was your complete lack of pretence. The ladies of the court, they preen and primp, give themselves false airs, they flirt and pretend, they lie and cheat to get what they want. They play a game, Cherie. They are born to it.  
Trust me, I have seen more of it than I would care to count.  
But you.....you were raised up in a world of plain honesty, piety, devotion. There is not an atom of falsehood in you. Your heart is pure. When you try to be other than yourself, it stands out like a pimple on an otherwise unblemished face. And you are transparent Gabrielle.....as ethereal as a ghost. I saw that straight away too." 

"I don't understand......." Her tears had subsided now, but her shoulders still hitched from time to time with an uncontrolled breath.

"Cherie. I knew you were being manipulated right from the start. And I knew the players that jerked your strings, and what they are capable of."

"But if you knew, then why did you......?" She began. 

"Why did I allow it? Ah! Now there is the question! I flatter myself that it was because I realised that through you, I might be able to trap my enemies. But I think it is probably more accurate to say that you entranced me!" 

"Armand. I'm telling you the truth, as God is my witness, they told me you were evil, I never expected or intended to fall in love with you. I was going to do what they asked of me, fulfil my task, then move on, not look back, not even think about it. I was told what I was doing was for the good of the realm. That you were poison for France, and should be supplanted. I realised that I'd been lied to very quickly....but then what was I to do? I was in league with the devil. They controlled me." 

"You forget Mademoiselle, I have had dealings with these traitors for a good while now. I know their methods. And my spies are everywhere. You told them exactly what I wanted you to tell them. No more, no less.  
Why do you think the door was left ajar for my meeting? My strong box left unlocked?  
........Although I must admit, I almost gave myself away then.....for I confidently expected you to steal something. When you did not I wondered if I'd been wrong after all. Which is why I decided to give you another opportunity! I must say, you've played your part to the letter. Each time you have been summoned to Palais de Luxembourg I knew of it. I watched your every move. I was seriously worried when you came back injured. It was not my intention that you should be hurt." 

"You know everything there is to know then? You know all my secrets. Then you know I'm telling the truth. Sweet Armand! I love you with every fibre of my being, I always will. Because you were my first. You have been kind to me, gentle and loving, how could I not fall for you? I cannot pretend....I'm a poor actress. It is not in my nature."  
She moved closer to him, laying her head against his chest. Fresh tears came.  
"I have been so fearful at times. Of both you, and them. Caught in the middle. Unable to think of a way to escape. My only peace has been here, with you. Then I've felt safe, at rest, at least for a while, but that will end now.........you will not trust me again, and they will know I'm discovered. My father will die in prison, and I will be at their mercy, to do with as they will." 

"On the contrary, my dear! I trust you implicitly! You are wholly mine now. You are their creature no longer. But you must promise me one thing......" 

Her face was eager, keen to try to make amends. 

"When you go back to Soissons, which I fear you must, you must be most careful. It is a dangerous game they play. They know that anything less than succeeding will spell the end for them, they know how ruthlessly I will deal with them if they fail. So, I will give you some information to pass to them, worth more to their cause than the Treaty.....which I guessed they would very much like to see......it concerns the Duke of Savoy........you will be _my_ agent.....and feed them what I tell you.......we will play their game.....and we will win." 

Gabrielle, protested, taking fistfuls of his shirt in her hands. 

"Please, My Lord, don't make me go back there......I fear the King's mother.....I fear Bouteville.....all of them......" 

"Hush now......the Queen will not harm you. She knows better than to do that. As for Bouteville.....I am reliably informed that he has lately been arrested. And currently languishes at His Majesty's pleasure!" 

"But afterwards, when the danger is passed, please may I stay with you? Whenever you'll have time for me? Do not separate yourself from me, I beg of you.....it would be worse than death, if I were not allowed to see you. Please say you haven't tired of me.....and that you can find it in your heart to forgive me? Please, Your Eminence. You are so very dear to me. I have prayed on my knees for you, every day since the night of the storm. That God will keep you safe, and the King will continue to favour you. On my life I have." 

"I do not doubt it! If the power of prayer is as strong in you as your spirit, I will be sure to be spared! There is nothing to forgive. I know that you acted because of your fear for your father, and your devotion to him does you credit." 

He kissed her then, tenderly. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pressed tightly against him. 

"Oh, Armand. Let me stay. I burn for you." She whispered, as he pulled back. 

"Sweet girl. You wield more power than you know. You make a foolish old man of me. You make me hard for you, ache for you......so much so that I long to be inside you, to fill you completely.......it is a temptation I fight against fruitlessly." 

"If you are foolish, then I have no wits at all! And you are never old to me.....you are vigorous and strong, a man not a boy. It's what I love most. You make me feel everything!" 

He began caressing her gently as she spoke, his body now hot with desire, straining inside his clothes, breathing rapid and shallow as lust for her drove him. 

Gabrielle gasped as his hand reached where she most wanted and needed it. 

"If Mary Magdelene was forgiven by Jesus himself......then we will be forgiven too......" She breathed, as he entered her with a choked sigh, and began to make love to her slowly and with great passion. 

"I will not give you up!" He whispered, as his rhythm faltered. "You are mine. Not theirs. You've always been mine! Right from the start!"


	12. Double Agent.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cardinal Richelieu has caught Gabrielle red handed, now she will work for him. 
> 
> He's also done a kind thing.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Duke of Savoy and Piedmont are real events. And the Duke's son did marry Louis's sister. They actually muddled this up generation wise, in the episode of the Musketeers, but hey....its television!

CHAPTER TWELVE.  
DOUBLE AGENT. 

"Your secretary is here to see you. Your Eminence." 

The Cardinal looked up from a pile of documents he was perusing, as his manservant came to his side. 

"Good. Send him in." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. 

Sitting back in his chair with a sigh, Richelieu steepled his fingers in front of his face thoughtfully, waiting patiently. 

"Well?" He said, as the secretary entered. "What news?" 

"Bouteville will go to trial on the morrow, Your Eminence. He pleads for clemency!" 

"Ha! I bet he does!" Came the contemptuous response. "We will send out a definitive message to those who flout the Laws against the Kings majesty. They will soon know who is in charge!  
What else?" 

"Chalais has been arrested, Your Eminence. He is in prison. Awaiting your pleasure." 

The Cardinal gave a little smile. 

"And the other matter? What of that?" He asked, leaning forwards again, his gaze fixed, hawklike upon his employee. 

"I have received word from Durfort. Your Eminence. As instructed, I corresponded with the Estate Manager. The young woman is telling the truth, Sire. The old man is sick. Perhaps not so as he may imminently die, but he requires care, and money is short." 

His Eminence nodded, considering for a moment. 

"Send them adequate funds. And arrange for the old man to be taken to the Priory of St.Teresa, where he can be properly cared for in the infirmary there. The nuns are skilled and renowned for their charity. Needless to say, I require your discretion on this matter. Should word of it get out, I will know from whence it came!" 

"You can rely on me, Sire. I will do as instructed. Will you be informing the young lady, Your Eminence?" He enquired, as he rose from his seat. 

"Not yet. The news will keep. For now. It will be our little secret!" He raised his eyebrows menacingly. 

"As you wish Your Eminence." The servant bowed low, and left the room. 

oOo

_Palais de Luxembourg.....a few days later........_

"I could not gain access to the Treaty, Monsieur Le Comte. I think the Cardinal is suspicious of me. I am in fear of my liberty and my life. I have, however, stolen these important documents, from which you will see that His Eminence is planning to march on Piedmont. With a view to capturing Susa. The Duke of Savoy reneged on the terms of Bruzolo agreement, and allied himself with Spain. The Cardinal is hoping that an army of French troops might persuade him to reconsider his unwise decision." 

She handed over the papers Armand Jean had furnished her with. 

"I will have to return them, before they are missed. But Her Majesty De Medici will be interested to see them I'm sure." 

Soissons spread the letters on his desk, and scanned them with interest. 

"You have done well. Mademoiselle. Very well indeed!" He smiled, and licked his lips with relish. 

"The Duke is to be invited for a State visit. If the Piedmont campaign goes well. With a view to an alliance in marriage, between his son Victor Amadeus, and the King's dear sister Princess Christine. I'm sure Queen Marie will want to hear of her daughter's betrothal.....Prince Gaston d' Orlèans, her brother too......."

Le Comte held out a hand to her invitingly. 

"Come Mademoiselle. Sit with me. I will order wine, I was hoping you would consent to stay and take supper with me. Then afterwards, perhaps a little fun?" 

Gabrielle smiled sweetly. 

"I'm afraid I cannot Monsieur Le Comte. Tempting though your offer is.  
The Cardinal will be summoning me to his chambers shortly, if I am not there he may send out looking for me. He knows you are my patron, but if he thought there might be more to our relationship than purely sponsorship he may cast me aside. His Eminence is not one to share, my Lord. He is a jealous master. If I lose his favour, I will not be able to obtain any new information, and I may be in mortal danger. Would you have me thus compromised Monsieur?" 

Soissons considered thoughtfully. 

"No. I would not. You are proving most useful Mademoiselle. I would that it continue.  
Go then, back to your Cardinal.  
If he thinks he is in control of you, all the better. Women are his weakness, his Achilles heel. And that is good for us!" 

The relief to be shown from his presence was so great, that it was all she could do to stop herself from breaking into a run. 

Gabrielle was summoned to the Palais-Cardinal almost as soon as she returned. 

When the door to his chamber was opened to admit her, his Eminence was standing by the hearth, his hand resting on the mantle, staring into the flames. 

He turned as the door was opened and his mistress shown inside. 

Seeing him, her face lit up, she ran to him, launching herself into his arms with such force that he almost staggered backwards into the fire. 

"Oof! Careful little one!" He breathed. "Would you have me scorched?" 

"Oh Armand. I am so glad to see you. To be with you again. It is all I desire." 

Holding her, her feet off the floor, he kissed her gently, rubbing his nose against hers affectionately. 

"I'm assuming it went well with Count Soissons?" He smiled. 

He placed her back onto her toes, but still held her in his embrace. 

"Yes. He has taken the letters, and I will have them back when Madame de Medici has seen them." 

She paused, and Richelieu waited expectantly for her to continue. 

"It was news to him concerning the King's sister, he did not know of the betrothal. I could tell by his expression.  
Armand? Can I tell you something?" 

"What is it my little mouse? He said, nuzzling against her neck with his lips, tickling her with his moustache until she squirmed. 

"He asked me to go to bed with him.......he wanted me to stay........"

The kisses stopped abruptly, and her lover pulled back. 

"What did you say?" He asked sharply. 

"I told him that I had to return. That you would be asking for me, that if I slept with him, I might lose your favour, I said you were not one to share. I hope I did right, I wasn't sure what to say, other than to discourage him. I'm sure I should have said something coquettish and flirty.....but......"

Armand Jean resumed his gentle exploration of her throat with his mouth and tongue. 

"No, mademoiselle. You did right. You were yourself, had you tried to be anything else, he would have smelled a rat. Now.........come......I am in need of your little fingers on my shoulders, and then I am in need of my _petite souris_ in my bed, for more than just my head throbs for you." 

"Then take off your shirt, and I will ease your ache for you." She smiled at him, meltingly, and he pulled her close to him, burying his head against her breast. 

"Sweet Armand." She whispered. "Only when I am here am I truly happy." 

oOo

Cooling from their frantic coupling, Gabrielle lay with her head resting on the pillow, her arm across Richelieu's body.

Her fingers circled absentmindedly, as his chest rose and fell, calming from his recent exertion. 

"I had some news today." He said softly. His hand cupping her shoulder, holding her in place, caressing her skin gently. 

Raising her head, she looked at him closely. 

"Good or bad?" She asked. 

"Good, I think." He replied. 

Her hand moved smoothly down to his stomach, stroking the line of hair there which disappeared gradually south.  
Instinctively he sucked in his abdominals. A jolt and a shiver of expectation running through him. 

"Cherie! Stop! Do not try to arouse me again, you tease me to distraction!" 

She smiled and placed her lips against his sternum, in a centre line between his nipples. 

"Tell me your news." She whispered. 

"Chalais has been arrested. My plans are coming to fruition, I have hesitated and allowed this plotting go on long enough. Now is the time to act." 

He sat up, and swung his legs out of the bed, removing her arm from him as he did so, as if to prevent her touching him intimately before he was ready for her to do so.

Standing, still nude, he crossed to the table and poured himself some wine, she noticed, in spite of his preventative actions, parts of his body had other ideas, and betrayed him. 

"Was there more?" She asked, with a slight smirk, before rising herself, taking the glass from his hand and taking a sip from it. He kept his eyes firmly averted from her nakedness.

"I have received news from your home estate in Durfort." 

Her eyes widened and she gripped his arm. 

"My father? How is he?" Her voice was tremulous, her emotion barely suppressed. 

"He is being well cared for at the priory of St Teresa, near to your village. He's doing well." 

A stunned silence greeted his words, as she processed the information. 

"But..........how?" She stammered, as his face broke into a smile and she realised what he had done. 

"You? You have arranged this?" 

The slightest of nods was his only reply. 

With a sob, she seized his hand, clutching it in both her own. Sinking to her knees at his feet, she held it pressed against her cheek, then kissed it fervently over and over.

"Dear God in Heaven! Bless you. Bless you, Your Eminence. How can I ever thank you?" 

She raised her eyes upwards, his thighs level with her face. 

"Oh, I don't know, I can think of one or two ways you can show me how you are grateful!" He said, looking down at her, his manhood now standing firmly upright between them. 

"Yes. Your Eminence. It would be my honour and my pleasure." She said, without bothering to rise.


	13. Revenge.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cardinal has a bad dream. 
> 
> The conspirators are being dealt with one by one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The King's words to Bouteville's wife, are his actual words. 
> 
> The conspirators fates are real events.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.  
REVENGE. 

After the hot summer the weather closed in remarkably quickly, it was cold and damp.  
Even the Palais-Cardinal, newly completed and with up to date facilities, seemed draughty and chill. 

Richelieu had a large fire made up in his bedroom, the windows closed tight. 

He was sleeping now, curled in the centre of his huge bed. Tossing and turning and murmuring in his dreams. 

A street. Late in the day, evening coming on. He seemed to be floating along, his feet not touching the ground. Around him a mist swirled and partially obscured his vision.  
From somewhere close by he could hear an argument.  
The voices familiar. He began to hurry in the direction of the sound.  
Panic.  
As is often the case in dreams, the scene was not one he'd actually witnessed, only one he'd imagined, many, many times.  
It haunted him.  
Lately it had faded, but now, on the eve of this particular day, it was back. 

Two men, facing each other. Cloaks pushed back, swords drawn.  
Vicious anger boiling over, old scores.  
One, a noble, Marquis de Themines, a hot head, not unlike Bouteville. The other, his beloved brother, Henri.  
Events seemed to move in slow motion, he raised his hand and cried aloud, rushing forwards, as he watched the parry and the thrust, and his sibling fall.

Not a sound, just a puff of air as the last breath left his lungs, a red stain spreading across his jerkin. 

He woke with a shout. 

"Henri!" 

Hot and feverish. The dream still startlingly close. 

The loss of his dear brother, an affliction greater than his own death. 

Duelling. An abomination. A scourge, to be stamped out. 

Reaching beside him for Gabrielle to comfort him, before realising that the bed was empty but for himself. This was not a day he wished her eyes to see, with him.  
So he'd sent her home. 

Little Gabrielle, his petite souris.........it was becoming a source of great concern to him, how much he'd come to rely on her company.  
It was very pleasant to sit with her of an evening, or share their repast.  
She soothed him, eased his cares.  
Feeling her, warm beside him in his bed was a pleasure which meant more than it should.  
Her devotion to him was not in doubt, she seemed to cleave to him now more than ever. Pale arms clinging around his neck, soft voice, gentle piety. Small hands on him, sweet arousal. 

He groaned, and sat up.  
Temptation. Always temptation. 

Rising, he went to the window and peered out.  
Below, he could glimpse the Place de Grèves. A flat space of gravel and sand , where the pillory and gallows stood, for public executions. 

Carpenters had been busy building a platform, he'd heard the hammering, seen the planks of wood being nailed together, a block bought in and positioned. 

Last minute pleas for mercy from the Montmorency family had been received. He had taken them to the King himself. In spite of his nobility, and his powerful family ties, Louis had been unswayed.  
Richelieu was proud of His Majesty's firm stand. He personally refused clemency to his tearful wife.  
"His loss affects me as much as it does you, but my conscience prevents me from pardoning him." 

As he watched, the execution party was led out. It was drizzling with rain. 

Richelieu watched impassively as Bouteville's head was separated from his body with one stroke. A gasp going up from the assembled crowd.  
He didn't bother to watch the beheading of Des Chappelles, his second, he was too insignificant. 

Yawning. Turning away, he sat down and ate a hearty breakfast. 

oOo

The gaoler had one tooth in the centre of his mouth, a blackened stump. Leading the way through the dingy passageways, punctuated by the cries and groans of inmates.  
A green slime trickled down the walls in places, dissolute faces peered through the bars of their cells, their eyes dead and hopeless.  
The cell he visited was less harsh, more commodious, there was at least furniture and a candle, although it did little to penetrate the gloom. 

The door unlocked with a rattle of keys, His Eminence stepped inside, the heavy portal fastened behind him. 

"Come to gloat. My Lord." The shrill voice spoke. 

"On the contrary. My heart feels very sorry for you Madame." The Cardinal replied. 

The Duchesse de Chevreuse laughed scornfully. 

"So, am I to hang? What does His Majesty say?" She asked then, a slight tremble in her tone.

"I have here a letter from The King. He has been merciful. You are to be banished. Set free from here, you are to pack your things and leave." 

"Where am I to go?" She cried. 

"I don't much care Madame, and nor does the King. He wants you out of his sight, and so do I." 

Richelieu made to turn away. 

"Where is Chalais......what have you done with him?" She acted swiftly, snatching at his arm and pulling him round to face her. 

"Ah!" The Cardinal simpered, pulling her hand away. "Mon pauvre Comte! I'm afraid the soldiers caught up with him at Nantes. Rather a sad state of affairs. I heard he screamed for mercy. The axeman was somewhat unskilled, it took thirty blows to remove his head." 

The duchess fell to her knees in a flurry of weeping. 

"If you'll take my advice Madame, you will gather your belongings quickly, once you are released, and count yourself fortunate you still have something above your neck." 

Banging loudly on the prison door, he called for the gaoler to come and open it.  
Sweeping out with a swirl of his cape, not looking back. 

oOo

"Sire, do you require some sustenance?" The manservant waited patiently, as his masters hand was held aloft to silence him.  
Finishing his signature with a flourish, his hand flicked, as a sign he was free to speak. 

"Le Prince de Condé is here, Your Eminence, and wishes to speak with you. Shall I tell him to return another time?" 

"No. I will see him. I have some news for him, and I think he may just be open to a little negotiation. Bring me some bread, and cold meats. And some wine. I will eat whilst we speak. Send him in." 

The servant bowed, and backed away. 

Moments later Condé was shown into His presence. 

The two men bowed cordially to each other, circling warily like two beasts, the one potentially preying on the other. 

"Monsieur!" 

"Eminence!" 

"I'm guessing you've heard the news of your friends?" The Cardinal tried to keep the smile from his face. 

"I heard of Chalais. And the Duchess. You are ruthless, Eminence. You deal with those who oppose you cruelly." 

Richelieu raised an eyebrow. 

"It is not I who deal thus, it is The King. He wields the power. I am only his vassal. I do as I am told." 

Condé laughed. 

"Do you think me a fool, Eminence? I know which is the organ grinder and which is the monkey!" 

"Did you come here for a purpose, or to bandy words?" The tone changed subtly, a hint of annoyance. 

"I came to beg forgiveness, and to see if you and I can work together. Rather than be at odds. I'm sure our ultimate aims are the same. I am anxious to show the King and yourself, my loyalty." 

The rictus smile that crossed the face of Richelieu was quite disturbing. 

"I see." He said, with menace, leaning forwards and placing both hands flat on the desk in front of him. 

"And I assume this has nothing to do with the fate of Les Vendômes also.........of which you're presumably aware?"

"I hear only rumours. And I prefer to learn straight from the horse's mouth." The Prince replied noncommittally. 

"They were both held at the prison at Vincennes." The Cardinal responded taking a sip of wine, and offering the carafe to his opponent. 

"Were?" A frisson of fear passed across the face of the nobleman. 

"Alexandre is dead." The tone matter of fact. Expressionless. "He died of a fever." 

"And what of César?" 

"He still languishes. But the King wishes for his exile. He plotted to assassinate me. He has conspired once too often.  
In these days of uncertainty, Your Highness, with the Queen not yet giving birth to an heir, you, after Gaston Duc d'Orlèans, are the next in line to the throne. You would be wise to remember that, be sure where your loyalties lie. Know your friends, despise your enemies. Love France. Be the happier and safer for it." 

"You would have me work alongside you?" 

"I would. You would be invaluable, Orlèans too, if one could knock some sense into him. Working together, we are stronger, France is stronger. Apart, we are weak and divided in the face of our real enemies. In return for your support in my endeavours, I can offer you lucrative assignments, you would be a useful acquisition to our cause. To further enhance the power of The King. Give it some thought Condé. I am confident you will reach the right decision." 

The manservant appeared at his masters bidding. To conduct the visitor to the door. 

He also handed The Cardinal a letter. Which he opened once he was alone. 

Scanning it rapidly, he gave a deep sigh, and called the servant back. 

"Send for Mademoiselle Durfort. I would see her as soon as maybe." He requested. Bowing, the man retreated. 

Some half an hour later, a gentle tap on the door. 

"Come!" 

A rustle of skirts heralded her entrance. Her hair curled prettily, a dress of turquoise silk. Stunningly beautiful, her complexion fresh and unpainted. Her eyes bright and expressive. 

Holding his arms out to her, inviting, she rushed to him. Smothering his face with affectionate kisses.  
"I've missed you Armand!" She whispered breathlessly. 

Why did he torture himself, in keeping her from him? When every moment like this was a tonic. 

"You look tired. Joseph says you've been up and working since dawn." Her hands were either side of his face, holding it firmly, looking into his eyes with her own open and honest gaze. 

"Joseph is my manservant. I do not pay him to be my physician, nor yet my nursemaid." He answered crossly. 

"Don't be angry Armand. He is devoted to your care. He loves you. As do I." 

Richelieu ignored her words. 

"I have received a note. From the Queen's doctor." He remarked. "She is with child!" 

"Armand! That's wonderful news. Your Mass worked! She'll be well, this time? I will pray for her." 

Armand Jean du Plessis took the young woman to his chair and sat her across his lap. Resting his weary head against her body. 

"Ha!" He laughed. "The King's manhood worked! As for the Queen, we can never tell. I lost my own sister Francoise, in childbed, the infant too. It is always a lottery, Cherie.  
We can only trust to God. Hope and pray." 

He closed his eyes, and felt the touch of her lips on the lids. 

"It has been a long day, but a good day." He said. "And I am ready to retire. I do not require you to do anything other than offer me some comfort tonight, my dear."

"Then I will do it willingly, sweet Armand. I will lie beside you, caress and soothe you. Massage your shoulders if you'd like, and allow you to rest and sleep. Perhaps by morning, you will feel suitably refreshed."

There was a hint of a smile on his lips, as together, they rose, and she led him to his bedchamber.


	14. Night Flight to Versailles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richelieu is called in front of Marie de Medici. 
> 
> He fears his political career is over. 
> 
> But Marie wants revenge, it falls to Gabrielle to warn him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation between Richelieu, Louis and Marie de Medici, at the Palais de Luxembourg is a real historical event, although of course the dialogue is my own. 
> 
> The King did go to Versailles afterwards and The Cardinal followed him there.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.  
NIGHT FLIGHT TO VERSAILLES. 

_At the Palais de Luxembourg........._

"My dearest son. I have only ever had your best interests at heart. Don't forget, it was I who acted Regent, when you were just a child." 

Marie de Medici, with a wine goblet in her hand, paced in front of her son, seated as he was at the dining table. 

"Mother, I am a child no more! I have not come here to receive a lecture from you. I agreed to this meeting out of deference to you as my mother, and as a former Queen. But you are no longer my advisor, or my council, I have one who is more than capable of fulfilling that role." 

The assembled company sat in silence, as mother and offspring fought a war of words. 

"Yes! A vagabond! A liar! A cheat! Who manipulates you and tugs your leash to bring you to heel.  
It is you who does his bidding, not the other way around. He tramples the nobility of France under his boots. Enriching himself in the process. The power of the Crown is not with you! It is with L' Eminence Rouge!" 

She slammed her glass down with such force that the contents spilled out, shooting all over the table. 

"The Cardinal does my work. He is loyal to me. He loves his King, and he loves France." The reply was spirited, but not entirely convincing. 

A murmur of dissent echoed among the diners. 

"Pah! You forget. Many years ago he was in my service. He was exiled because of his duplicity. He wrote you letters begging to be reconciled.  
He was on his knees to you!!"

Louis sighed audibly, glancing at his brother, who pointedly looked away. 

"Madame. It was a trying time. For us all. You also are not entirely blameless. He lost much. His position at court, his brother, and then his sister, he lost lands and money, paying off his brother's creditors and defending his own honour. May I remind you, he was completely exonerated. He has shown his devotion to me time and time again."

No one at the table spoke, or nodded in agreement. 

"He will say and do anything to retain your favour, and his own position. Send for him! See if I am not correct! Have him bought here to defend himself! Let him stand here before me, and Your Royal brother here, and your cousin Soissons.....let him grovel for mercy at your feet. You will soon learn, who is most loyal. A true fils de France, or one who is a fly on the backside of this country, biting the rich, sucking their blood, fraternising with heretics, making alliances with Calvinist scum, and side lining the noble houses of this realm, to bring in his own creatures. He should be summarily dismissed." 

The King acceded, with a gesture towards the palace guards stationed on either side of the door. 

"Have His Eminence brought here immediately. We would speak with him. Do it!" 

oOo

The arrival of The King's Musketeers, roughly pushing the hapless Joseph out of the way, sent a thrill of fear through Armand Jean du Plessis.  
He had been in this situation before. On more than one occasion.  
He had no choice but to leave with them, but he was determined they should not dictate to him completely.

"Allow me a few moments to prepare myself." He said quietly and calmly. 

"Our orders were that you should accompany us forthwith." The captain pressed. 

"Yes. And I will do so willingly. But not before I have changed and had a moment or two in silent prayer. Would you have me address His Majesty in my nightshirt?" 

His voice was firm and resolute. 

"Be quick about it then. It would not do to keep the King waiting." 

oOo

Sweeping into the dining room some time later, flanked by swordsmen, while two of his own Red Guard waited outside, The Cardinal Duc de Richelieu bowed low. 

"Majesty. Forgive my tardiness. I was unprepared for your summons and was making ready to retire for the night. May I offer Your Highness my sincere congratulations on the wonderful news of The Queen." 

Marie de Medici regarded her nemesis with ill disguised distain. 

"See how he fawns over my son!" She spat venomously, to the table in general. "Ever false, and always self serving."

Richelieu turned to the King's mother with a look of surprise. 

"Your Majesty!" He retorted. "I'm nonplussed by your tone. For surely, it is through my careful negotiations that you were reconciled with your offspring, all those years ago? In fact I seem to recall that it was your own Majesty who convinced the young King that I was a skilled politician and should be given a seat on the council. Were it not for me, acting as go between, you would be languishing in miserable exile in Blois, or worse, where I was sent alongside you." 

The old Queen was not to be outdone however. 

"Yes. And look how you've repaid my faith in you! By scheming, and plotting against myself and the High Born houses and attempting to turn the King against members of his own family."  
She turned to her eldest son.

"I demand that he is removed from office! It is time to choose Louis. Him, or your own Mother!" 

The cardinal did not smile or scoff, or make any sign of either anger or submission. He merely turned his back on her and addressed himself to the King alone. 

"Sire. If I have offended or displeased you, then please, accept my resignation. I shall leave your service forthwith. Retire to my estates and relinquish my duties to all but God, henceforth. I would not come between The King and his family. Nor would I seek to remain where I am neither needed nor wanted." 

He turned back to face The Medici.

"Madame. You have your wish. You have toppled your rival. If only your desire to see your son strong on his throne, were as strong as your hatred of me. But I fear that is not the case. You accuse me of vying for power, but I suggest you look in the mirror. I shall not stand here, nor kneel, nor beg, to defend myself. I have done nothing to defend. My thoughts and cares are, and have always been, for The King, and for France. I bid you goodnight." 

Bowing low, and before he could be stopped, Richelieu swept dramatically from the room.

Once the door closed at his back, Louis rounded on his mother and her assembled company. 

"There! You have your wishes granted, and have cost me my most able minister, advisor and confessor. I hope you are satisfied! Tonight I shall journey straight to Versailles, and remain there until the Christmas festivities.  
Brother! Goodnight. I trust you will not stab me in the back as I leave!" 

oOo

The corridors of Le Palais de Luxembourg rang with the laughter and music of celebration. As the supporters of the Queen Mother revelled in the ousting of their most hated enemy. 

Cheers and whoops echoed across the gardens and into the night. The halls and the rooms thronged with delirious grandees, carousing as the wine flowed. 

But even as the merrymaking began, the intercession of Richelieu's influential friends were mustering in the wings.

oOo

Reaching his rooms in the Palais-Cardinal, Armand Jean considered his political career effectively over. His future seemed to promise nothing more than impending disgrace.  
Abandoned by his master and, to all intents and purposes, his God, he could do little except to accept his fate. 

On his knees at the little altar in his chamber, he lit candles from a taper with a hand that shook. He prayed for guidance and for the hand of providence to be extended to him. He prayed for the King, for the Queen and her unborn child, and for France.  
Head bowed in supplication, then prostrating himself before the icon of The Holy Virgin, he prayed for his immortal soul. 

oOo

From her window at the Louvre Palace, Gabrielle watched the return of The King, she heard the uproar, as the household was immediately thrown into turmoil at his announcement of the imminent departure for Versailles.

She wondered at all the fuss. What can have happened? 

Tiptoeing downstairs she tackled one of Louis' own servants, who had accompanied the Royal party to Le Palais de Luxembourg.

"What is happening this evening? Everyone seems to be running mad. All is confusion and mayhem!" 

"The King leaves immediately for Versailles! There has been a crisis at the Luxembourg Palace, mademoiselle. The King has chosen to take the side of his Mother against The Cardinal.  
He has relinquished his Ministerial post." 

Gabrielle listened in stunned silence, her face white with fear. 

"If he thinks he will be allowed to fade into quiet retirement, he should think again! The Medici will have his head.....but not before she's finished making sure he endures much pain. She is mustering the King's Musketeers as we speak, to arrest him and throw him into The Bastille. Her revenge will be swift, she hates him with a vengeance. I wouldn't want to be Richelieu right now!" 

"Has he gone back to his Palais.......do you know?" She asked urgently.

"Yes, mademoiselle." The footman bustled away, as shouted instructions reached him from the hallway. 

Gabrielle had no time to think, no time to gather any possessions together, and certainly no time to wait for a carriage. 

Turning on her heel she made for the back stairs, which cut through the palace kitchens and out into the courtyard.  
Hitching up her skirts, bunching them under one arm, she ran. 

The court was skirted by mews, where the horses were stabled, there was a path which ran out and through some fine gardens, bedewed now in the drear November mist.  
An iron gate led directly into the Palais-Cardinal which stood almost opposite the Louvre Palace, separated only by the parterres of Le Jardins, the Cardinal's private garden. 

The young woman sprinted across taking a short cut through the pleached lime walk, where she had strolled with Armand on numerous occasions. 

Reaching the fine Paladian main entrance, she found her way blocked by the Red Guard. 

"Please!" She gasped. "Will you send word to Joseph......I'm here to warn the Cardinal." 

She was met with a steely glare, and an immovable presence. 

Exasperated, she turned back, and made her way along the side of the building to where another entrance was situated, this one for tradesmen's carriages, carrying deliveries of groceries, and other comestibles. 

Here, there was also a guard, but one who, thankfully, recognised her. 

"Please.....I'm here to see Joseph, can you send word to him.....I beg you!" She was almost frantic now, as precious moments ticked by. 

It seemed an age, before she could see the faithful manservant, hurrying across the gravel towards her. 

"Mademoiselle! You are on foot?" He seemed shocked. 

"Joseph! Thank God! Yes! I ran.....we must warn Him." She panted. "Soldiers are being despatched, he will be taken. We have to do something!" 

"In! Let her passed!" Cried Joseph, holding a hand out to her as she slipped through the gate and into the grounds. 

"Gather things together, and arrange a carriage, saddle horses. I will go and find him......" She cried over her shoulder, as she hurried away.

"Fly.....Mademoiselle! Leave the rest to me!" He peeled off towards the stables, as Gabrielle ran inside and up the magnificent staircase.  
Outside his chamber, she was again challenged, and refused entry. 

By now she was so desperate and in a state of such panic, that she would have wrestled a lion to gain entry to the room. 

"ARMAND! ARMAND!" She screamed. "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! ARMAND!" 

At the sound of the furore, the door swung back, Armand Jean du Plessis, his face set and pale, jaw tight, expecting to be taken no doubt, was instead met with an almost comical sight. 

Three grown men.....grappling......with a small fighting, screaming, biting vixen. Teeth and claws and arms and legs flailing.....it was a battle they were losing, as she fought like a tigress, slippery as an eel, yelling his name the whole time. 

He came forwards, clapping his hands together.

"ENOUGH!" He cried. "Unhand her at once!" 

The men fell back as if stung. A flushed and breathless, and decidedly dishevelled, young lady struggled to her feet, and launched herself at him in a flurry. 

"Armand!" She cried. 

Trying to retain a modicum of decorum, he peeled her arms from around his neck. 

"What is the meaning of this?" He exclaimed. 

The door closed behind them both, and she mounted another onslaught, clinging to him fiercely, her face close to his. 

"You must leave, now.....my Lord. They are coming for you....they will be here at any moment." 

Her desperation was such that she could not understand why he seemed so unfazed, resigned almost, even annoyed at her intrusion. 

"I'm going nowhere." He replied sedately. 

"But.....Your Eminence......she is sending the Musketeers! They will escort you to La Bastille." Her voice turned shrill . "She will kill you.....but first she will have you flogged, or racked, or tied to horses and dragged, she will rip you apart......Sire! You have to get away........" 

To her horror and confusion, he smiled. 

"The King would never allow it." 

Throwing her hands up into the air, infuriated, she cried aloud.

"Are you mad! She'll have you for breakfast! The only safe place for you is to be near the King. And he is gone to Versailles." 

She went down onto her knees at his feet, her face pressed against his boots. 

"Please! Sweet Armand. I am begging you. You have to leave here. You cannot stay. The Medici is celebrating. As we speak. She is crowing from the rooftops that she has conquered you. That your days are numbered. She will rip your heart out while it still beats. And she will laugh as she does it." 

At that moment, a sharp rap on the door.

Gabrielle froze, her face blanched. 

"Oh God! They're here!" She whispered. 

Long fingers closed around her small hand, as it hung limp by her side. Squeezing firmly. 

"Courage. Mademoiselle! Trust in God." He murmured. 

It was Joseph. 

"Master. The carriage is ready and waiting. I will follow with whatever you need. You MUST be gone. It is not safe here." 

The pair relaxed visibly, although his hold on her hand did not. 

"Joseph, you must escape yourself. We will manage." He replied calmly. 

"Forgive me Your Eminence. But I have served you faithfully these many years. I will not be separated from you now. I will follow you as soon as maybe. But for now....please....you must be gone." 

Down the stairs, a travelling cape hastily fastened at his throat, to keep out the chill. A coverlet thrust in at the last moment for Gabrielle to wrap herself in, since she had no cloak or any means of warmth of her own, due to the urgency of her flight. 

"Farewell Sire. May St. Christopher keep you both safe." 

Banging the side of the coach with his fist, the horses were whipped up, and they jerked forward, rolling smoothly over the paved surface of the courtyard and out into the streets of Paris. 

Once free of the main thoroughfare they were on their way. 

Their hands found each other's and joined again. Richelieu bought them to his lips and kissed them fervently. 

"Ma petite souris!" He whispered, and gathered her into his arms. 

"Oh Armand! I'm so afraid!" Tears began to come, as shock and fear at the close call that threatened their bolt for freedom hit her. 

"No tears, My love. All will be well. The King will not abandon me. I place my faith in God. He will not let me down." 

Her response was to nestle into his body, brushing her lips to his, a tender kiss, which he turned into a strong and forceful one.  
Suddenly he was tugging her close, breathless, gasping, deeply aroused. 

"Gabrielle! My own. You have saved me." His hungry mouth plundered hers, fingers wrenching at her clothing, and his own, in a desperate bid for contact. To feel her bare flesh, as she now felt his. 

When she first touched his hardness he threw back his head. 

"Ahh! Cherie! I want you. Now! I am on fire! I burn to be inside you." 

The danger of their situation, the surge of adrenaline at thus riding their luck acted as a powerful aphrodisiac, filling them both with an insatiable need for closeness. 

She straddled him, her hands cupping his cheeks, covering his face with little kisses. Urging him to penetrate her. 

"Take me! Sweet Armand. I am yours. I love you. I would willingly give my life for you." 

His cries as he released were ones of pain, the ache of fulfilment, of completion, profound after the manic flight and narrow escape. She collapsed against him, in the throes of her own climax.  
He held onto her tightly, and she clung to him in return. Panting for breath, still buried within her. 

"I always said you'd do me good!" He whispered, with a smile, his lips close to her ear. 

Just how narrow the escape, he wasn't to know! 

The King's Musketeers missed him by minutes.


	15. The King's Grace.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabrielle and Richelieu have reached Versailles. 
> 
> In the morning The Cardinal had an audience with the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After his run in with Marie de Medici, Richelieu did follow the King to Versailles, where he was assured of his continuing support. 
> 
> The Queen Mother was exiled to Compiègne and Gaston Duc d' Orlèans bought into the Kings Council.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.  
THE KING'S GRACE. 

The remainder of the journey was spent with Gabrielle cradled close to him, seated sideways, her legs across his lap, she slept against his chest, and his own head nodded, resting onto hers.  
Exhausted and overwrought. 

Thankful at least to still be at liberty.

It took several hours to reach the hunting lodge at Versailles. 

The night was dark and drear in the extreme. Drizzling with cold and soaking rain. 

By the time the carriage arrived, the King had already retired, and Armand Jean was not permitted to see him. 

No rooms were prepared for them, as they were not expected, so they were asked to wait. 

They sat in the Petit Salon, with bread and cold meats, a glass of red wine warmed by the flame of a candle, whilst hasty provision was made. 

The bread was stale, so Gabrielle cut slices and toasted them in front of the fire speared on a fork. 

Not a word was said as to why The Cardinal arrived so suddenly and appeared to have his mistress at his side. 

Who were they to judge? 

Before retiring Richelieu repaired to the Chapel. 

There he fell on his knees and prayed that God might intercede with His Majesty. That in the morning his welcome would be a favourable one. Which was by no means certain. 

Gabrielle knelt beside him. Her hands clasped in front of her, her head bowed.  
Eyes closed. 

She asked if she might receive Communion, to which he willingly obliged. Giving her a final blessing, after they recited the Lord's Prayer together. 

_PATER NOSTER, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen._

She refused to be parted from him once they were shown to the chambers prepared for them. Fearful lest soldiers should come for him in the early hours and take him away, before he had a chance to speak to the King. 

The room was ice cold, the fire only newly lit. The bed unaired.  
But they were too tired to care, drifting into uneasy slumber, huddled together for warmth and succour.  
No more than a chaste kiss, before she settled against his body. Wrapped in the relative comfort of his arms. Still in her chemise, he in his shirt to keep out the chill. 

She awoke to find him gone. The fire dead. The room cold and empty. 

The previous evening and night like a dream. Hardly real. 

Nothing she could do but wait, and hope he soon returned. 

oOo

"Your Majesty is gracious to agree to see me!" Richelieu bowed low. 

The King regarded his Chief Minister's pale, drawn face, with some degree of concern. 

"I am glad to have you here. Your Eminence." 

Straightening up, and standing stiffly in front of the enthroned monarch, The Cardinal continued...

"It is only by the Grace of God I am here, Sire! Your Mother sent your own soldiers for me, to convey me to La Bastille." 

Louis smiled slightly. 

"The Grace of God, or the quick thinking of a certain young woman?" He said. 

"Both. Sire." Armand replied, with honesty.

"You seem to have a weakness for this one in particular, my dear Cardinal?" 

His tone was jovial, he was clearly amused, both by his advisor's obvious discomfiture, and the thought of his hasty departure in the face of imminent capture. 

"I am told that every man should be allowed one weakness, Your Highness, and she is undoubtedly mine!" 

"Tis no matter. It is true you are a Man of God, but principally you are a MAN. Much like any other.  
But let us not bandy words. Where do we stand? Are you still my Minister? My advisor, my ambassador and my helpmeet? Are we, if not exactly friends, at least still allies?" 

The King rose, and came forward, standing a few inches shorter than His Eminence, causing him to look up slightly, so their eyes met. 

"If you still require my services, Sire? It is my wish to serve you in all things. To be useful to you, to do all in my power to keep your throne strong, and the position of France at the centre of all things. I am as devoted to you as I am to God. The two go hand in hand. I would not relinquish that for the world." 

Louis smiled. 

"Well said indeed. Be assured you have my continued support." He replied. "But there is the small matter of my Mother and my Brother. What is your advise there?" 

He watched the shoulders visibly relax. The tightness of the jaw, set as it was, give a little. Heard the little gasp of relieved breath as it left him. 

"It is not for me to decide the fate of your mother Sire. That is for The King alone.  
As for The Duc d' Orlèans I would keep him close." 

His Majesty began to pace, his expression concentrated, brows knitted in thought. 

"Madame de Medici has overstepped the mark this time. Her plotting and conspiracies, the company she keeps, I am sick and tired of it all. She treats me as if I am a small child, unable to think and act for myself. Well, I CAN think and act!  
You will arrange it, Cardinal. She shall be sent into exile. I will not have her near the Court or me. She will be separated from her poisonous group of friends.  
My choice is Compiègne.  
It is far enough removed from temptation, and from the centre of things. She will be summarily shut out." 

"A sensible and wise decision, Your Majesty. I bow to your superior judgement." 

"As for my Brother, he should be imprisoned, or his lands and goods confiscated......." 

"If I might be so bold, Sire......" Richelieu held up a quieting hand, stopping Louis in mid flow. 

"It occurs to me that it might be prudent to have your Royal Brother close. May I suggest he is offered a post on The Kings Council?" 

The King scoffed loudly. 

"Are you mad?" He laughed. 

"Some may think so Sire, certainly! And frequently tell me so! But my thinking is this......how much better will it be, knowing that Gaston is right under our noses, where we can keep a close eye on him?  
Here, he can be given the chance to serve his brother the King loyally.  
It will also act as a constant reminder to him, to be extremely grateful for the clemency and leniency of his dearest sibling, that through your good grace, he still has his goods and chattels, his liberty and, most importantly, his head!" 

"My God! Richelieu. Your mind is like a rapier. I would hate to be able ever to take a glimpse inside your head!" 

Just a hint of a smile played across the Cardinal's lips. 

"If in the future, should he stray from the righteous path, Your Majesty, it will be quite easy to make him aware of just how foolish that course of action might be, and the consequences thereof. I'm sure your brother would fast become the most conscientious of Ministers." 

The matter settled, Armand Jean du Plessis, Duc de Richelieu bowed low to his sovereign, and took his leave. 

He had been saved. 

oOo

"How can I reward you, for what you did for me?" 

Master and mistress were seated together at a small table, having just finished supper. 

"There is nothing. Sweet Armand, you have ensured my father is being cared for, you keep me here at your side. What more could I possibly ask?" 

Armand Jean smiled. 

"Nevertheless. If there was one thing in my power to grant, what would you have me do for you?" 

Gabrielle considered for a moment. 

"There is one thing. Sire." 

"Name it!" 

She began tentatively. 

"That when the weather improves I might be allowed to travel home, for a visit. Perhaps a week or two?" 

To her surprise, the wine glass was slammed down, in a fit of pique. 

"Not possible!" He snapped crossly. Then, more calmly......

"I would not have you leave me. I am grown accustomed to your company. I wish for you to remain at Court." 

A little taken aback at his response, Gabrielle, laid a gentle hand on his arm. 

"It is no matter, Sire. But you asked me what would be my desire, and I answered, with honesty. I'm sorry if my reply irked you." 

"Other women would have asked for jewels, fine clothes, houses......." His tone seemed hurt. 

"I am not 'other women'!" 

Her lover's face softened. 

"No!" He replied. "I am sorry. Forgive me? I am being selfish. Of course you should visit. And as soon as maybe. It can surely be arranged." 

In one movement she was on her knees at his side, one hand resting on his knee. 

"Armand. I love you. Always. You know that. But my father is old, and in poor health. I will soon return to you, if you wish me to, if you have not tired of me, I would only be away a short time." 

Placing a hand on her head, in grateful benediction, he took her hand and raised her up. 

"I do wish it! Tomorrow, I travel to my Chateau. Would you consent to accompany me?" 

She looked up into his face, reaching up and touching his cheek with great tenderness, smiling. 

"Of course. My dearest Lord. I will follow wherever you go, if you desire to have me. But why are you not returning to Paris?" 

"The King will remain here for a week or two, until his mother is safely out of the way. Paris will be quiet until he returns. I too wish to avoid Marie de Medici. I have no desire to wish her a fond farewell. I am tired Cherie. The events of these last few days have wearied me. I would spend some little time in the place I have commissioned, near the town of my youth. By the grace of his majesty I have constructed a private home there.  
It is my wish......if you would like........I would show it to you?" 

The eyes that looked back into hers were sad, there was a dullness in them that she had never seen before. It concerned her greatly. 

"Then I will come there, with pleasure. We can spend time there. You can show me all that you have built. I would very much like to see it."


	16. Chateau de Richelieu.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richelieu and Gabrielle have travelled to the Duke's country estate. 
> 
> He is taken ill with a fever. 
> 
> Bad news is received.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chateau de Richelieu was like the Seventh Wonder of the World! (Only tiny parts of it now exist) 254km from Paris. A vast complex, built and designed with the King's permission by the same architect that Richelieu used for the Palais-Cardinal in Paris.  
> It encompassed the Du Plessis family home, an enormous estate and lands, and was, at that time, the Versailles, that Louis XIV was later to create.  
> It housed the Cardinals fabulous collection of art, books, treasures from all over the world, sculpture, porcelain, carpets. A veritable feast of wonders. 
> 
> Richelieu was a great patron of the Arts. He founded the Academie Francaise and bequeathed works to the Sorbonne and other great societies. He funded writers and literary works, was a keen supporter of the theatre (not considered a particularly 'proper' thing for a Cardinal) and amassed a vast collection, during his lifetime, rivalled no where else in Europe. 
> 
> Several times during his life he suffered from ill health. As well as the migraine headaches, and other complaints, he fell victim to periodical fevers, the symptoms of which may resemble malaria. Although it is not certain if this was what it actually was.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.  
CHATEAU DE RICHELIEU.

Taking her hand, helping her to alight from the carriage, Gabrielle looked around her in awe. 

"Armand! It is magnificent!" She gasped. 

The chateau was approached by a long avenue of trees. One of three such entranceways that met in a half circle running from the town to the outer gates. 

There was stabling for a hundred horses, lodgings for estate workers and gardeners, and offices. 

The whole was surrounded by a moat. Beautiful gardens flanked the approaches.  
A central fountain played.  
Gravel walkways and a large inner court were reached by a drawbridge, with a grand domed gatehouse.  
It enclosed the original house, the Du Plessis family home, where Armand Jean lived as a child.  
On each side of which were pavilions, which featured square domed ends. 

A walled and moated garden was divided into parterres, with another central fountain and statues placed amongst arbours of greenery. 

There was so much to see that Gabrielle could hardly take it all in. 

"You built all this?" She breathed. "It's astonishing, Armand. Just stunning." 

"My architect, Jacques Lemercier, who designed my Palais-Cardinal, in Paris, was commissioned for this Chateau. They will be my gift to the country at my death, I will bequeath them to the King." 

As they walked up the grand staircase together, she took his arm. 

Joseph, his faithful man, walking respectfully a few paces behind. 

oOo

Armand Jean du Plessis lowered himself into an armchair with a deep sigh, passing a hand over his face. 

"My Lord! Are you unwell?" You seem so tired. Has the journey wearied you?" She moved to his side, sliding an arm around his shoulder. 

Closing his eyes he leaned into her, her hand went to his forehead. 

"Armand. My dearest....you are so hot!" She exclaimed. 

She came around in front of him, full of concern. He made no effort to stop her as she opened his jerkin and pushed her fingers inside his shirt.  
The skin was clammy and damp, and he was very warm. 

"I shall call for Joseph immediately!" She said. "You have a fever." 

"I will be fine! Do not fuss." Richelieu attempted to push her hands away, but his strength seemed to fail him. 

Meekly, he allowed his manservant and his mistress to help him to bed. His legs buckling as he walked.  
Once there they undressed him together, swinging his legs under the coverlet. 

"Joseph, fetch me some water, barely warm.......and a cloth, so that I can sponge him down." 

"He has experienced these sweats in the past. I have witnessed them. Should I fetch a physician, milady?" The man asked, bowing slightly

"I think not. They will want him bled. It is my belief that it weakens rather than strengthens, I will look after him myself. Ask the cook to make a weak broth, and bring a jug of fresh water. He is losing a great deal of fluid in sweat, I must endeavour make him drink."

Throughout the night, Gabrielle never left her master's side. 

She laved his body with a cloth soaked in cold water, to cool him down. Encouraging him to take sips of water as frequently as she could.  
As the early hours of the morning came, he burned with a fever that refused to abate. 

Several times he vomited, his head bending over a basin, as she soothed him. His hair soaked, clothes clinging to him, shivering uncontrollably.  
"Drink this Armand. You are so weak. It will strengthen you." 

"What is it?" He murmured. 

"Broth, with herbs and good things. But easy on the stomach. Small sips.....easy now, lie back, and sleep for a while." 

"Am I poisoned?" He whispered, his eyes searching hers, full of fear. 

"You have eaten and drunk the same as me....and I am well. So I do not think so!" She replied. "Joseph tells me you've had bouts of this malady before. All will be well. You must not upset yourself." 

Cradling an arm behind his head she eased him back against the pillows, as he muttered incoherently, almost delirious.  
Clutching her hand. 

"Do not leave me! Stay! I might die. All my work on earth will be for nothing. My enemies circle.  
I am afraid......Cherie, my day of reckoning with God is here.......I will go to hell." 

"Hush! Hush now! You will not die. You have me to take care of you. It is a fever, that is all. Soon you will be well. Do not despair." 

Gently she mopped his brow, as he slipped down into a fitful slumber. 

Waking with a start, her head resting against the bedclothes, still seated in a chair beside him, it was mid morning and the wintry sun was shining. 

Joseph appeared at her side. 

"Mademoiselle! He is cool. The crisis is passed. You must rest, I will sit with my master." 

Yawning and stretching stiffly, she leaned forward and rested a hand against the Cardinal's pale face, then felt for his pulse, which was strong and steady. 

She nodded. Satisfied. 

"If he wakes, call me." 

She left quietly, falling onto her bed, drifting into a dead slumber, completely exhausted. 

oOo

Wrapped against the cold, his arm threaded tightly through hers, they walked. 

Strolling the gravel walkways in the frosty morning. The sun low though the trees. 

Armand Jean walked slowly, bent slightly as if under a great weight. He was still weak and pale, but regaining his strength daily. 

Shivering a little, although wrapped warmly in a fur lined cape. 

"We must not go too far. I would not have you tire yourself, My Lord." 

Richelieu turned to her and smiled. 

"Twice now.......I owe my life to you. Forever in your debt." 

"Sire, you are better, that is my only concern. There is no debt."

He stumbled as they reached the steps, she caught and held him firm. 

"I am well. Cherie." He murmured. "Thanks to you. Just a slight lightheadedness. I will recover. It feels good to be outside again, and breathe the fresh air in my lungs."

"I think we should turn back now. It is enough for one day. Tomorrow, perhaps, if it is fine, we can walk again." 

oOo

Standing together in the Long Gallery, Gabrielle stared up at the works of art. 

The vast rectangular room was filled with sculpture from Ancient Rome, portraits by Poussin, works by Leonardo Da Vinci, Titian and Veronese, as well as Rubens and a bust of himself by Bernini. 

A large library contained ancient and rare manuscripts, scholarly books and other treasured documents and papers. 

Gabrielle moved through hall, staring up at the pictures displayed there. 

"It is a gift, is it not?" Her lover said quietly, the echo of the high ceilinged salon, magnifying his words. 

"A gift?" She responded, gazing in wonder all about her. 

"To be able to see light, and colour, and contrive to recreate it on canvas. The folds of velvet cloth, the tones of the skin, a leaf with its delicate veins. It is genius." 

Her expression when she turned to look at him, was one of surprise. 

His face was aglow. Animated. Eyes bright and dancing with delight. The sweeping gestures of his hands, graceful, as he pointed out the various art works to her, naming the artist and how he acquired the piece. 

Such a cultured man, she thought. Harbouring deep and intense passion. She saw him in a wholly new light. Here, in the home he'd created for himself, surrounded by the things he loved best. 

Two weeks were spent at the Chateau de Richelieu. Wandering the rooms and the gardens when it was fine enough to do so. 

For Gabrielle is was idyllic. 

They lived almost as husband and wife. Sharing everything. 

No one to frown upon them or judge. Far from Court etiquette and conventions.  
As his strength returned, they went riding, into the agricultural lands which bordered the estate, or through the beautiful woodlands, where there were deer and wild boar.  
Evenings spent by the fireside. He would read to her, his voice low and deep, mesmeric.  
Sometimes, if his eyes were tired, she would take the book from his hands and read on, until his head nodded, and he dozed. 

They woke each morning side by side. 

Daily, riders carrying state papers arrived. A part of each day would be spent in his study, alone, as he worked on matters of government. 

Gabrielle knew it was only a matter of time before this happy time came to an end. To her it was almost as if it wasn't real. That they were in a wonderful dream. 

It was time to wake up. 

Letters were despatched from The King, he would shortly be returning to Paris.  
He required his First Minister at his side.  
It was with a heavy heart that Gabrielle received the news. 

"So it ends." She said sadly. 

"We will return to Paris. All will be as it was." He assured her. 

But somehow she knew, nothing would ever be quite like this. 

oOo

Finding him alone in his petit salon, early one morning, he was seated at a desk, his head in his hands. Leaning forwards, his face grey and taut.  
Preparations were underway for their departure, and he had been kept very busy, but today he seemed desolate. 

"What is it, Armand? What has happened?" She rushed to his side, her hand on his arm. 

"A letter. Received not an hour ago. From the Estate Manager at Durfort, with whom I correspond regularly." 

He looked into her shocked face, and touched her cheek gently. 

"You should not return to Paris with me. I will arrange for my best carriage. And some of my hand picked Red Guard to accompany you. It is time you returned home Cherie. Your father needs you." 

She fell on his neck in a fit of weeping. 

"Is he very bad?" She sobbed. 

"A turn for the worse. He is sinking. There is little chance he will rally. I only pray that you reach him in time. I'm sorry, ma petite souris......very sorry."

His expression resigned, Richelieu left her to collect herself. Making his way to the chapel he spent some half an hour on his knees, in silent prayer. His eyes fixed on the carved and gilded image of Christ on the cross, suspended above the altar. 


	17. Home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment of parting between Master and mistress is painful for both.......

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.  
HOME.

The parting between Master and Mistress was conducted in private. 

Witnessed by no one. 

Even Joseph was not privy to what passed between them. 

She hung on his neck, her head buried against him, trying to commit to memory the scent of him. The feel of his skin. The touch of his lips. 

He held her close, his hand pressing her to him. His cheek against hers.

"Do not forget me, Cherie. I will think of you often." His voice was calm and resigned, but there was a tremble in his body, which he fought to control. 

"I love you Armand. I will never have another. You were my first, and you will be my last." Tears, which she'd held back thus far, began to leak, unbidden and roll down her face. 

"You speak as though you'll never see me again! You will be back at court before you know it. And I will, God willing, still be there. Ready to welcome you. We will be together once more." 

She kissed him tenderly, over and over again. 

"Of course we will! Until then I will carry the memory of this morning, when we were one, and you made me feel so alive! So filled with joy. I will miss that, Armand. I will miss you, every second. Because you have been so kind to me. So dear. You will remain here......" She put her hand to her breast. "......forever. Goodbye, my Master. My friend. God protect you and keep you." 

"Farewell. Ma petite souris. Be safe on the road. Take this with you, with my blessing." 

Taking the ring from his finger he pressed it into her hand then closed her fingers around it. 

As the carriage drew away, she leaned out. Watching him recede into the distance. He stood, motionless, one hand raised in benediction. 

Losing sight of him as the coach rounded the bend, she broke down. Weeping as if her heart would break. 

Once the carriage had disappeared from sight, he still remained there. Staring off into the distance. 

Joseph came to his side. 

"She is a fine young lady Sire. Very fine indeed." 

Turning, he gave a sad smile. 

"Something tells me I shall never see her again. My heart aches with it." He responded. 

Taken aback by the candid reply, Joseph, moved to walk into the house alongside him. 

"I do not agree My Lord. Sometimes devotion is stronger than any other emotion we know. It draws us. God willing, you will be reunited with her again." 

oOo

The road was long and hard. 

In the worst weather conditions. Incessant rain. The skies seemed to be weeping for her. All the tears she could not cry herself. 

Prostrated with sickness throughout the journey.  
Frequent stops were made en route, so that she could rest before continuing. 

Her escort consisted of the kindest of men. Ever mindful for her comfort and wellbeing. 

When she was not vomitting from being thrown around inside the carriage, she felt a lowness of spirit which threatened to crush her.  
The greater the distance covered, and the further from him, the worse she was affected. 

Nothing could lift her spirits.

On finally reaching her home, she was weak with constant retching, exhausted to the point of collapse.  
Yet the first thing she did on arrival was go straight to her father's bedside. 

"My little Gabrielle! My darling daughter! You are a sight for sore eyes. I thought never to see you again." 

"I am here papa. I will stay with you. I will take care of you. I thank god for delivering me safely to you!" 

oOo

In Paris, life continued very much as it always had. Intrigue, liaisons, infighting and plotting. Punctuated by celebrations of the Christmas period, balls, feasts and masques. 

Armand Jean du Plessis Duc de Richelieu, threw himself into it all with an almost reckless vigour. 

He worked from dawn till night, organising, preparing, negotiating. He met with various foreign emissaries, attended Council meetings, oversaw diplomatic conferences and state visits. 

Each day when his letters arrived by despatch rider, he asked Joseph to bring them directly. 

"Anything?" He asked. 

"Nothing. Your Eminence." 

He would sigh, and pinch his nose with his fingers wearily, and begin another day. 

His manservant did not need to ask to what his question referred. He knew only too well that his Cardinal longed for news.  
There had been an initial letter, telling of her safe arrival, detailing the condition of her father and mentioning she had been unwell. 

Then nothing. 

He wrote to her weekly. 

Then, after three long months, came a missive from the Estate Manager, with whom Richelieu also corresponded regularly. 

He thanked the Cardinal for monies received, and wrote to say that Seigneur Durfort was dying. Sinking rapidly. Mademoiselle had been caring for him round the clock.  
She had a trying time of it, barely a moment for herself. Also she continued in poor health, but he did not specify what ailed her.  
Armand Jean was frustrated, empty, quite distracted with worry. 

Why did she not write? 

Let him know how things were. 

It was another two months before a letter finally arrived from her. 

It became clear to him that, unlike he, she had no means by which to send word to him. Hiring riders was expensive. The fact that he financed a person specifically to keep in touch with the estate was a secret. 

She knew nothing of it. 

He determined to send someone down to Durfort, with the express purpose of acting as a messenger. 

Sitting alone, in his salon, he read the latest dispatch through, for the umpteenth time. 

_My dearest Lord,_

_I regret to inform you that my father breathed his final breath on Wednesday last._  
_As you can imagine there has been much to do, and I have been hard pressed to know how to accomplish everything._  
_As my father has no sons, I do not know how I now stand as regards the estate and his finances. I have tried to discover the state of the lands, the houses, vineyards and livestock, and if there are debts to pay or outstanding monies owed to us. People are reluctant to deal with me as a female._  
_I am at a loss, my dear Lord, as to my status and my future. I have no friends other than yourself whom I can ask for advise._  
_Can you aid me?_ _I would not give you any trouble, I ask only for guidance._  
_Pierre, my father's manager is a dear man, and has helped me as best he can._  
_My health has been poor and I have been advised to spend a month at St Teresa's to recuperate._  
_I will write again from there if possible._

_I remain, as ever, your most loving and humble servant._

_Gabrielle Durfort._

oOo

By the time Richelieu had been able to make arrangements to his satisfaction, more than another month had passed. 

He dispatched a King's messenger to the south, with strict instructions to see Mademoiselle Durfort personally, and bring back word, both written and verbal to tell him of her condition.  
He was also charged with meeting the estate manager and concluding certain business in the name of the Cardinal himself. 

It was a fortnight before the emissary returned. 

He was shown directly to the Cardinal's private apartments. 

"Well? What do you learn, and what do you have for me? Tell!" His hand waved dramatically. 

"The young lady was well, Sire. Quite recovered. I had a meeting with her for one hour. She received the papers and was quite overcome, Your Eminence. All was explained to her as you instructed, and she has given me this to bring to you personally." 

He handed over a folded and sealed piece of paper. 

"As requested I spoke to the Manager. Monsieur Leconte. We had a long discussion. He is aware of the situation and that you are to continue providing financial support for the estate. It is in good hands Sire, is well managed with great competence. You will not need to bolster it much longer.  
At one time things were run down, almost bankrupt, due to the seigneur's aiding of the Protestants and the fines he was levied as a result. During his imprisonment and subsequent ill health, M. Leconte kept the place afloat, by prudent care and good business sense. Since you have been sending money it has gone from strength to strength, it will no doubt reap great profits.  
The young lady is in ignorance of your patronage Sire, it has been kept from her.  
But she is quick and clever and is already learning about the day to day running of the farms, the vineyards and the livestock.  
She will make a most able landlord.....or should I say.....landlady!" 

Richelieu nodded in satisfaction. 

"I am pleased." He remarked. "You have done well, and will be well rewarded. Thank you." 

"It is my pleasure to be of service. Your Eminence." 

Once he was gone, Armand Jean opened the fold of paper with trembling fingers, and read, biting his lip with suppressed emotion. 

_"My dearest, dearest Lord,_

_How can I ever thank you?_

_How can words ever be enough for what you have done for me._

_I see your hand in my letter from His Majesty the King._

_It seems so long since I saw you, and I try so hard to remember your face. At night I lie and think of every line, each contour, and commit them to memory._  
_May I confess something to you Sire?_  
_Before I left The Chateau I stole away one of your shirts, and packed it into my valise._  
_I have it under my pillow. It smelled of you, although that has faded now, but I hold it close to me when I sleep, every night, and I think of you._  
_Of course, whilst papa was so ill it was impossible to return to Paris, and then my health failed._  
_I am well now and am finding that learning to run the Estate is a full time occupation._  
_It will take me many months to set things to rights. Although Pierre tells me we are in good shape financially, but I'm not sure if he tells me the truth, or if he wishes to spare me. But I shall insist on seeing the ledgers as soon as maybe, and acquaint myself with how things really stand._  
_There are times, my dear Lord, when I long for you so. The ache is a deep physical pain, and I think it will be impossible to bear it for one more day, but then I go to Mass, and I pray for you, and for fortitude, and I feel better, the day passes._  
_My love for you remains undimmed, although I'm quite sure and fervently hope, you have someone else to comfort you by now._  
_Although I hope you sometimes think of me fondly, as I am, and will always remain,_

_Sincerely your_

_Petite Souris._

Cardinal Richelieu bowed his head down, until it touched the desk in front of him. There was a deep pain in his chest.  
Which threatened to burst forth. He held his hand there, breathing rapidly. His eyes closed. 

Was that a tear that coursed down his cheek? 

He would go to her. He must. He needed to see her. More than anything. 

A sudden knock, and Joseph entered hurriedly. 

"My Lord Cardinal! The King had been taken violently ill. It is thought he might die."


	18. Inspecting Defences.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King is dangerously ill. 
> 
> Events conspire to keep The Cardinal and his mistress apart. 
> 
> Finally, they meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The king's illness is real. The Queen lost a child in the time frame of this story. 
> 
> The words of the Cardinal to Schomberg are his own.
> 
> The first paragraph takes us back in time to the cardinal's messenger reaching Durfort.
> 
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN  
INSPECTING DEFENCES.

Gabrielle sat demurely, her hands folded in her lap. As the Kings messenger bowed and handed her the official looking documents in a leather bound case. 

"What is this?" She asked curiously. As she began to open it. 

"I have been charged by His Majesty and sent via his First Minister, His Eminence The Cardinal Duc de Richelieu, to hand these papers over to you." He replied grandly, sweeping a bow with a theatrical flourish. 

Unfolding the paper, she could see the Royal Seal, attached at the foot of the page. 

"They are Letters Patent, milady. The King has granted that you are the rightful heiress of this Estate, for your lifetime.  
To be passed on through your line, to any issue you may have should you marry, for perpetuity.  
You are to receive the title by official Royal Grant, raised to the equivalent rank of Viscount, and will be henceforth known as Vicomtesse de Durfort, and your lands increased to reflect your new status." 

Unable to quell the emotion which rose inside her. Gabrielle let her tears fall unchecked. 

"I request now to see your Estate Manager before I leave. And the Cardinal has specifically charged me with the task of carrying back any private correspondence you may like to send him." 

oOo

The King's fever was so sudden and unpredicted, that everyone was taken by surprise. The court flung into a state of panic.  
His entourage were travelling and had reached Lyons, when Louis was taken ill.  
No one could understand it. No remedy seemed to have any effect. 

The country held it's collective breath. 

Public prayers were offered for the King's deliverance. The Supreme Consolations of the Church were bought to the, now clearly dying, man. 

His retinue were deeply moved. At court a potential new reign implied an inevitable change of policy. Everyone's eyes turned towards the Cardinal.  
His enemies took courage, and hope. Without an heir, France would have King Gaston, which heralded the return of the exiled Queen Mother. 

Richelieu's position was in such danger that he actually considered calling for his carriage and fleeing south. His goal to reach Durfort before soldiers could catch him. 

The physicians despaired that Louis would last the day. 

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the crisis seemed to pass.  
The King passed a large quantity of pus, and almost immediately the fever abated and he fell into a deep sleep.  
As the terrible spectre of death receded, Richelieu could breathe again. 

That night he wrote to Schomberg, the Marshall of France. 

_"I was so afraid that I should lose the best master in the world. It is with immense joy that I write to inform you that the King is out of danger."_

The trauma of the events surrounding the Kings near demise, and the severe stress she was placed under, caused Queen Anne to go into premature labour, giving birth to another stillborn child. 

All this contrived to keep Armand Jean in Paris for many months, whilst the King slowly made his way back to the capital, in slow stages. Stopping to rest for a few days at each large town. 

The joy at the recovery of their King was tempered with despair at the loss of his child.  
The Cardinal was the first allowed to the Queen's bedside and spent over an hour with Her Majesty, talking and praying with her. Any animosity between them, set aside in the wake of such tragedy. 

oOo

Almost eighteen months had passed. 

Gabrielle's heart faltered when the letter was delivered. 

He was coming. 

After so long. 

She sank down to the floor, weeping. 

That evening she attended Mass, never had she prayed so hard and so fervently.  
That God would bring him to her safely. 

He was visiting La Rochelle, to inspect defences, then travelling down, visiting Bordeaux and Toulouse. Passing through Durfort and on to Montpellier. 

Journeying with a large retinue. All would have to be housed. A flurry of organising. Frantic preparations. 

oOo

The day arrived. 

Her excitement was so great that she was almost lightheaded. 

The carriage was coming up the approach. Stopping at the steps leading up to the house. 

The door was opened, and his guard stepped him down. 

As his head emerged he looked up. Their eyes met, as she walked forward to greet him.  
Her hand extended, the ring he had given her, prominent, on the third finger of her left hand. 

When his fingers closed around her own, her heart felt as if it would burst. 

He looked older. Thinner. More careworn, but his eyes were as bright as the moment she'd said goodbye to him at the Chateau so long ago. 

"Welcome to Durfort, Your Eminence." She forced herself to be formal, although every sinew in her body wanted to fling her arms around him, and hold him tight. 

"I am glad to be here." He smiled, and she led him towards the house. 

"Please, enter. I have food and wine prepared, or would you like to freshen yourself first?" She asked kindly. 

"A wash I think. I am hot, dusty and dirty." He replied, his eyes never leaving her. 

God in Heaven, she looked so beautiful! He'd forgotten just how lovely she was. Her complexion was as fresh as ever. Hair twisted behind her head most prettily. He thought she looked a little fuller in the figure, where he'd always considered her rather on the thin side. 

Showing him to the chamber prepared for him, she closed the door behind them. 

He turned to her as soon as they were alone. 

"Oh my petite souris!" He whispered. "I have waited for this day." 

She sank into his embrace. Weeping with relief and happiness. 

To see him again. 

To feel him. 

Burying her face into his chest. His scent. So essentially masculine, so completely _him._

She breathed him in. 

Trembling, a mixture of excitement and suppressed longing. 

"Just let me hold you. My dearest Lord. My sweet Armand." She whispered. "Don't move, don't speak. Just let me feel your arms. Your warmth. Oh my love, how I have missed you! Every single day. I've prayed so hard for you, wanted you so many nights, and yet you were so far away. I thank God for bringing you to me." 

Raising her head, a finger under her chin. His kiss was so intense, so filled with need that she never wanted it to end.  
Their mouths were locked. Duelling with each other. Cementing the memory of every moment they'd been apart. 

Later they sat opposite each other, sharing their repast, as they had done so many times. Falling quickly back into their old routine. Unable to stop touching each other, a hand, an arm, just one more kiss. 

"How long can you stay?" She asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. 

"It depends on what happens in Paris. Providing all is well, and there are no crises, perhaps a week, possibly two. But I could be recalled at any time." His fingers curled around her own. 

"I hoped that you would have someone new to bring you comfort. Is there no one?" She squeezed his hand in return, holding his gaze with her own. 

"No one, Cherie. At first, I burned for your company. Then I became numb, no one could replace your grace, gentleness and piety. I closed myself off. Convinced myself I would never see you again. I hoped you would come to Paris. But I heard you'd been ill. I thought perhaps you'd found yourself a husband?" 

Gabrielle smiled, rose, and came around the table behind him, placing her arms around his neck and nuzzling against it. 

"I do not wish for a husband. I told you. I want no other. Besides, my life is complicated. I am a Vicomtesse now! I have many and divers responsibilities!" 

He placed his hands over hers, as they crossed at his throat, then turned his head so that their cheeks were touching. 

"I am refreshed now, I would very much like to see some of your fine estate. I understand it is doing very well under your stewardship." 

She laughed, and it made his heart glad. 

"Then come with me!" She said, taking his hand, "and I will show you. New lands have been purchased, enlarging the whole. I cannot think who negotiated the sale! I think I know all your secrets! Could it be that you have a confidente in my midst, I wonder?" 

She raised her eyebrows knowingly. 

"Ah!" He replied with a smirk, as he left his seat and followed her outside. "It seems my agent has been discovered!" 

"And _you_ with the master spy network! I am no fool, My Lord. Not anymore. Monsieur Leconte has confessed all to me. I know everything you've done!" 

"I have been worsted! All the conspiracies and plots I've dealt with, and I am beaten by a clever young woman. With more wits than all of them put together." 

They walked on the terrace together, as a young house servant came towards them. 

"I have had to learn an awful lot in the last year or so, I am no longer the little innocent who came to you all that time ago........and, I have secrets of my own." 

Gabrielle took his arm, linking her elbow through his, nodding to the serving woman, as she did so.  
Turning him around so that he faced the house. 

Out through the open doors and into the afternoon sunshine ran a small child. 

A tousle headed little boy. 

Just a toddler, robust, strong and healthy. Handsome. His eyes piercingly blue. A prominent nose. 

"Maman!" He ran to her legs, hugging her knees. His face against her skirts. 

Armand Jean du Plessis, looked on in silence. 

Eyes on the child, then on his mother, then back to the child again. 

Emotion hit him like a hammer blow, his heart giving a lurch, and he bit his lip, in an effort to hide it. 

Bending, Gabrielle scooped up the little one. His cheek pressed against hers, he regarded Richelieu nervously. 

Still the man didn't speak. Seemed unable to form words. But there were tears glittering in his eyes. 

"This is my secret!" She said quietly. 

Swallowing heavily. Wiping his face. 

Tentatively Armand reached out a hand, and touched the chubby fingers. The child grabbed it, and clung on, not letting go. 

"This is Armand! And he is a very dear friend of mine." She said softly, into the little ear. Then, turning to Richelieu.... 

"This is Henri.....he is my son. Say hello Henri!" 

"Grandpere?" The merry little voice piped. 

She saw the eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he stepped back, a little whimper escaping from him, a hand across his mouth. 

Gabrielle blushed furiously and placed the youngster back on his feet. 

"Run away to your nurse now Henri.....Maman will come to you at bedtime." 

Richelieu watched transfixed as the youngster tottered away. 

"He's a fine boy." He remarked, a slight catch in his voice. 

"He is! Bright and very clever too. Like his father." She replied, and looked into his face searchingly.

"Gabrielle......you know that I can't........." He began.

"Hush! Armand! Please! I want nothing. He is my son. He is my pride and my joy. That is all. But I wanted very much for you to see him." 

"Why did you not write of him? Let me know of his birth......now I see things more clearly.....your illness?" 

He looked down at her imploringly. 

"My dearest! What would such a letter say? How could I put him into words to send to you? A man of The Cloth?  
Beset by so many other cares?"  


"When did you know?" 

"I think I suspected long before I left you, perhaps even before I was caught trying to steal the treaty, but I was much too afraid. I couldn't possibly tell anyone. Besides, I may have been mistaken. Then when my father was taken ill.........." 

She hesitated.

"......No, it was better this way. You see now My Dear Cardinal, why I could not return to Paris?  
Henri is accepted here, no one questions either me or him. It is the business of no one but myself. He is MY son, and that is all anyone needs to know." 

oOo

The week passed all too quickly, the Cardinal stretched it into a few more days. 

Gabrielle could tell, however, that he was anxious about events that may be occurring in Paris, and needed to be gone. 

She had no hold on him, and there was no reason for him to prolong his stay far beyond its allotted span. 

He slept in her bed. 

The servants warned to stay away. Not that she cared what they thought, but for appearances sake she deemed it prudent. 

Not a word was said. 

If her staff knew he was with her, and she was sure they did, even though he retired each evening to the chamber prepared for him, then so be it. 

Waking beside him again, even for this short time was more precious to her than any pretence towards convention. 

This particular morning however, when she roused herself he was already up and gone. 

Rising and moving to the window, she looked out. 

Below, on the front lawn in the morning sunshine, was her beloved Cardinal. 

Dressed not in his fine robes of office, and his zucchetto, but in just his undershirt and breeches, with the sleeves rolled up, his feet bare. 

Sitting on the grass, whilst round and about him, tumbled and played, her little boy. 

His wooden horses, all around them both, a fine game, pretending they were cavalry.  
She could not hear their exchange, but as she observed them, her lover lifted Henri into the air with his muscular white arms, holding him above his head, as he squealed and giggled and kicked his chubby legs. 

Then, suddenly clutching him to his breast and holding him tight, kissing the rosy cheek many times, until the little one squirmed to be free, and was released. 

Running away, down the garden, Armand Jean struggling to his feet and chased after him, roaring like a lion. As peels of merry childish laughter rang, he tripped and fell, the man upon him in a second, lifting him again and swinging him round. Small hands reaching for the face and tugging the beard. 

"Grandpere!" 

Gabrielle wept openly. Turning away, her heart full to bursting, aching at the sight. 

oOo

_Later......._

"You will leave today My dearest Lord?" 

They sat together on the terrace shaded from the hot afternoon sun. 

"I fear I must." He reached for her hand and clasped it. 

"I have something." He rose and went to his luggage, returning with a wooden box. 

He handed it over. 

"For your boy." He said quietly. 

"Armand.....I told you, I want noth........." 

"Open it!" He interrupted. 

She frowned at him, but did as she was bade.

Inside was a beautiful set of toy soldiers, each with painted uniforms in the livery of France. 

Hand over her eyes, her head bowed down, unable to hold in the emotions that crowded in upon her. 

"Oh Armand! He will treasure them! It's a wonderful gift." 

His arms came around her, kissing her hair tenderly. 

"Hush now! No more tears. You have wept more than enough both for me and because of me." 

"I will miss you so very much." Her hand stroked his cheek gently. 

"I have a small gift for you too." Another package was handed over.

Gabrielle's eyes were moist with tears, shaking her head in disbelief, as she unwrapped it and took out the contents. A black undershirt, belonging to Richelieu himself, with embroidery on the collar. 

"You really should marry Ma Petite Souris. You should not spend the rest of your life pining and alone.  
It is not right.  
If you wish, I could find you a suitable husband, one who will love you, give you more fine children, take care of your boy as his own." 

She gave a sad smile, but shook her head. 

"No, Eminence. I do not wish for any husband. Or more children. Little Henri is my gift. My gift from God. I do not deserve or want for anything more. I am content." 

The Cardinal huffed in frustration. 

"Then you will permit me to sponsor the child, have him educated? He shall want for nothing. Is there anything else I can do......for either of you? Please Cherie.......I'm asking you.......whilst you know I cannot openly acknowledge him, I can care for him, and while I cannot ever adequately express my........ _admiration_.......for you........you know it nevertheless.......?" 

The look she gave him was one of profound gratitude, knowing what the admission cost him. 

"Armand. I don't expect you to. I never did. Henri is my son. He was baptised Henri Jean Armand. That is all I could do for him, give him a name to live up to. To be proud of. His name alone will be the only acknowledgement. He will neither need nor receive another." 

Taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips, he kissed the ring he'd given her. 

"You'll continue to wear this? And on this finger.......as a sign?" 

"I never take it off, my Lord. Nor will I ever." 

A servant came quietly, and stood to one side, coughing discreetly. 

"Hmm hmm! Your carriage is prepared, Your Eminence."

Rising, they walked together to the steps, and down to where the coach and horses patiently waited. 

"Will you say goodbye to him?" She asked softly. 

"No, Cherie. I've said my goodbye already." He turned to her, his hands gripping her tight at the elbows.

"You will come to Paris one day soon? Bring the boy?" 

His tone earnest, almost pleading, although he did his best to hide it. 

"I will. I promise. When he is a little older. Perhaps your Eminence would find me a good school for him?" 

Armand Jean du Plessis, Duc de Richelieu, smiled. Breathed a little sigh, a mixture of relief tempered with the pain of impending separation. 

"Then it is not goodbye. Only farewell." He raised both her hands to his lips and kissed them. 

"God watch over you both and keep you. Ma petite. May he bless you and shine upon you. Until we meet again. Adieu." 

"Farewell my dearest Lord and best of friends. Be safe on the road. Write to me sometimes if it pleases you. I shall think of you everyday. I will pray for you. And keep you here, in my heart. Safe. For always." 

Stepping into the carriage, he seated himself, and then looked out. 

Little Henri came toddling down the steps to stand beside his mother.  
As the coach moved away, she lifted him up, holding him against her hip, she whispered something to him, and he immediately began to wave vigorously, as Gabrielle blew a kiss. 

The sight of them both was seared into his eyes, which blurred and swam. A hand clamped over his mouth tightly, as his chest heaved in and out, holding in the deep but silent sobs. 

He gripped the side of the window, his knuckles white, moving back hurriedly out of sight. 

Closing his eyes, mouthing a silent prayer. His hand clutching the cross which hung on a chain around his neck. Fighting the temptation to look back again.

It was only with a supreme effort of will that he succeeded, as the carriage passed through the gates and was gone. 

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This painting of mother and child is by Peter Paul Rubens.  
> It could easily have been in the Art Collection at Chateau Richelieu.
> 
> I like to think he commissioned it, and it is a painting of Gabrielle and her son.
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> Thank you to everyone who sent messages both on tumblr and on here. I'm glad you all enjoyed the story and I appreciate every message I receive. 
> 
> It is such a boost when someone is so engaged with the story and send a comment to say so.


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